


Incubus

by SlutWriter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Worship, Cock Worship, Creampie, Excessive Semen, F/M, Hung Shota, MILF, Parent/Child Incest, Rimming, Son-Cucks-Father, Verbal Abuse, Vomiting, Watersports, huge penis, mom/son, ntr, sph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlutWriter/pseuds/SlutWriter
Summary: After bringing home a strange curio, a man finds that things are changing between he, his wife, and his ten-year-old son.





	1. April 1st - April 18th

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 1st, 2018**

Twelve hundred bucks was my share of the proceeds from finding the Partridge speakeasy. A fucking joke considering we were hoping to haul a couple million. During prohibition the place was a bordello for rum-runners taking Canadian whisky down the east coast. It cost me thousands to run the backtrail and do the research, but that wasn’t where I took the biggest bath. It was the five months of planning, chasing it, and moving halfway across the country.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this (I’d rather write about a success, not a failure) except that Ted recommended I do, to have it all on the record about Mare and Danny, my side of the story, not a bunch of lies for a judge or an arbitrator to pick through and give me the shaft. But I’ll get to that in the moment. First I have to tell you about Partridge.

It was me and Ted Shaw that put up the money for it, I had the technical knowhow and Ted was the historian. I knew him from my time at Boston College, and even after I washed out and he stayed on, we kept in touch. One day he asked me if I’d ever heard of the Partridge speakeasy. Apparently, it was a brothel and bar where all the big rum-runners used to lay their heads and grab a good drink and a good lay before continuing up or down the coast. So far, so what, right? Well, he’s been researching for his thesis about what became of all of these old booze lords - were they killed by the cops, where are their families now, that sort of shit - and he says to me ‘Johnny, Partridge was the hideout for the robbers who preyed on the rum-runners. They would go there after big scores. And the government never truly found the place. They  _thought_  they did, so they stopped looking, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t.’

So we got to talking and convinced each other, I guess, that we could be looking at millions stashed cash, gold and jewels, not to mention a ton of vintage booze, that is just out there for the taking, somewhere in New England. Ted had access to these guys correspondance, you see, it was donated to the college. Hundreds, thousands of letters from the robbers and their wheel-men and the prostitutes they were fucking, detailing the card games they cleaned out, the trucks they hijacked and the big scores they made, feeding like ticks off the back of Al Capone. A dangerous way to live. And Ted tells me, the list of seizures the government made at the time doesn’t square with what he’s reading in these letters. Like, there’s  _millions_  unaccounted for.

_Johnny_ , he tells me,  _that stuff is still out there._ Heh, yeah, right. Fitting I’m writing this on April Fool’s Day. That old whoremaster Ted got me good.

Things weren’t going so great at the time. After Marilyn got pregnant with Danny, I left school to get a job. I’ve always kinda resented her for that. Mare is and was a great-looking chick, and I’m proud of that, being in a relationship with that class of woman. But she just went to bed with me too easily, you know? And bang, nine months later, out pops Danny. Goodbye Jesuit education. Hello job. I ended up getting three of them, and I always intended to get back to school, but I sorta got stuck, like a man sometimes does when he’s scraping by on the measly salaries and benefits they give. Mare wanted to get a job but I wouldn’t let her. A mother’s place is looking after the kids, and I don’t think it’s too old-fashioned to say so. Christ, we used to argue about it. She ran a business online, designing wedding invitations and stuff, to help pay the bills, and when I found out, I was pissed. But we needed that money, and I resented her for that too. Having to take fifty bucks were, fifty bucks there from total strangers just to pay the rent. Fucking humiliating. 

So I was tired all the time. Kid crying every night, wife can’t shut him up, can’t get any decent sleep. And that sorta set the tone for the next ten years. I was working, trying to inch my way up in the rat race, and Mare is at home, dealing with Danny, settling into her routine. She made friends with the wives of guys from my work, and we kept up appearances. There were some good times, the rare vacations, stuff like that. But every time I would start to get ahead, something would set us back. Car trouble, big repair bills. Kid needs some dental work, big bill. Kid wants to try baseball, equipment bill. I didn’t have two nickels to rub together.

I worshiped my dad, you know? Tough old son of a bitch went early, he was 49, but he never took any shit. A union man. Mill worker. I hoped Danny would admire me the same way. But that’s the bitch of it. It’s like I couldn’t understand my own kid. Danny is so quiet, almost shy, and I don’t know where he gets it from. It’s tough to draw him out of his shell. But god knows Mare talks and nags enough, especially about money. Just my luck that my male heir is the quiet one and the wife is the one with a mouthful of sass. 

See, once about three years back, Mare gave me a tough time about a piece of business and I had to set her straight. And Danny saw me do it. Now I’m not saying I’m a saint, but she was all over me, yelling at me, saying I should let her get a job if I was going to be so bad with money, and I gave her what she deserved. A wife needs to respect her husband, that’s just the way it is. My dad taught me that. My mom used to joke around with him, but one time she went too far and said something about how handsome one of his friends was, he gave her a slap in the mouth. And that’s all I did to Mare.

Anyway, ever since I did that, Danny has been pretty quiet and he won’t engage with me. I think Mare has kinda turned him against me, really. Real nice, right? Telling him what an asshole I am but never mentioning how I work to put food on the table. That’s why I want to write this all down, so I can tell my side of the story, tell how it really is. Maybe I’ll never have to make any of this public, but I’m not going to let some biased judge stick me if worse comes to worse. Ted recommended it. Before I stopped talking to him, that is. It was his last piece of good advice. So now, for the record, I only ever put my hands on Mare twice. That time three years ago.

And last week.

It was the Partridge operation, you see? We found it, back in the woods, a lodge, with the entrance to the brothel behind. The walls had been bricked and plastered over and we had to knock them down. We rented equipment and a truck to do that, and what did we find? An old, dusty whorehouse. Ransacked.Splintered headboards covered in dust half an inch thick. A few old liquor bottles, mirrors, candle-holders and lamps, coat racks, old newspapers from the roaring twenties. But as we went through the rooms, we get more and more desperate. Because there was no money. No money, no jewels, no stash. We tore up floorboards and put sledgehammers through tile. Every room had these little curios lined on the bedside tables, little devils or imps, like the owner had a wood carving habit he couldn’t kick. While I was swinging those hammers and wielding the drill we rented, they seemed to be mocking me. Every one of them had this pernicious little gremlin grin, squatting or standing on one foot. They were size of chess pieces, and I would have smashed the ugly things (they were cheaply painted, the red, black, or purple color would rub off on your hands like chalk) except Ted thought they might be worth something. I couldn’t see how. Every one seemed to be leering like a voyeur at a peepshow, a horny devil with a forked tail and a bulging loincloth. Some pervert woodcarver’s idea of a joke, maybe, except they didn’t look funny. Just grotesque.

So yeah, no money. The university bought some stuff. A collector from Portland bought the period furniture we could drag out. And when it was all said and done, I had $1,200, not even enough to pay down a single credit card. All that for dragging my family halfway across the country, and half year’s work. The collector wouldn’t even take the painted, chalky curios. When I showed him a couple, he got a weird look on his face, like a chill ran up his spine. He offered a price on the rest, but said he ‘ _wouldn’t take those, not even for free_ ’. This is some old, bearded guy with glasses, remember, and I’m desperate for cash, so I ask him why not.

“Whores are superstitious, Mr. Lyle,” he tells me. “And more than one of them has put a little  _maloika_  on a man who mistreated her from time to time. What you’ve got there is a woman’s ill wishes. The evil eye.” 

Have you ever heard such fucking bullshit? A woman’s ill wishes. So I leave that place with twenty hundred measly bucks and a satchel full of ugly little devil statues, and I have to figure out what to make of myself.

I didn’t want to face Mare. We’d been fighting more and more, but I thought that when I showed her half a million, a million, whatever, she’d finally have to shut up about it and just accept that I’d made a good decision for the family. I’ve been snakebit, really, snakebit since we first hooked up and she got pregnant. Eventually I had to go home and tell her that what I’d found didn’t amount to much. It went about how you’d expect. She called me a liar and a bastard, and said I was misrepresenting how promising the project looked. So I told her not to call me a liar, I just had some bad luck is all. And she says ‘you make your own bad luck, it’s not bad luck, it’s bad decisions’. She tells me she could have had a job doing graphic design for local businesses back home except I forbid it. She used to do storefront signs for shops and the like, and she got her start with this one coffee shop. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want her working, you see; Mare is a good-looking woman, even in her early 30’s she’s kept it together. The owner of that coffee shop was only offering her work to get in her pants, and I knew I had to shut that down right quick.

So that’s how it happened. She’s screaming at me, and I’m screaming back, and she starts talking about those graphic design jobs she could have had and mentions the coffee shop. And I see this look in her eye, maybe like she’s thinking what her life could’a been like if she was over there fucking some barista instead of me. “I could have taken that job and I would have loved it,” she says, and there’s something in that voice that tells me she’s not just talking about the job, she’s talking about fucking some other guy.

So I hit her. Not just once, but I followed her and gave her two or three smacks. Not trying to hurt her, just trying to shut her up, you know, not have to listen to her abuse. And Danny is out of his room and watching us fight, and he comes and grabs my arm. Christ, I never meant for him to get involved, but I was hot under the collar at Mare for what she’d said. Calling me a loser and a fuckup, wanting to fuck some other guy. So he has a grip on my arm and I just yank it away, hard-like. And there’s a snap, that’s Danny’s wrist. Total freak accident.

So my wife’s got a black eye and my kid’s got a fractured wrist, and neither one of them wants to look at me. And here we are. That’s why I’m writing this. To get on the record. You can only push a guy so far with your mouth before something happens. And Danny, well… like I said, pure accident.

I probably won’t update this blog again, this is just a place to collect my thoughts.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 4th, 2018**

Mare and Danny still won’t give me the time of day. I tried apologizing to Mare, trying to make her realize it’s the pressure and the stress I’m under. As for Danny, I had a talk with him, but he’s just so goddamn withdrawn, I don’t know what to do. I sat him down on the bed and tried to explain what he saw is just a disagreement between mom and dad, and what happened to his arm is an accident. 

Part of the problem is, he’s always been a mother’s boy. Not in a whiny, tattling way, but he gets along with Mare better than he gets along with me. I trusted her to do that, and sometimes I feel like she never bothered to tell him that I was out busting my ass trying to put food on the table. There are other things, too, things she did that drove me nuts. Like one day she comes in and tells me that she was talking to a photographer friend who would like to take some shots of Danny for a catalogue.

“She said Danny could be a model,” she says. “I’ve always said he’s a beautiful boy.”  That pissed me off. See, Danny looks a bit effeminate to me sometimes, he has these big blue eyes and long eyelashes, with really streamlined facial features. And no matter how many times I tell her to cut his fucking hair, she lets him keep it in this blonde neck-length tangle. Me, I think guys bathrooms are for guys and girls bathrooms are for girls. He’s a boy, he should look like a boy. So when she sprung this photographer shit on me, damn right it pissed me off. Can you imagine? A ten-year-old kid in the fucking fashion industry. Absurd. Someone’s got to pose for those catalogues but it’s not going to be my kid, you can bet your life on that. And that was just one of dozens of things Mare has done with him that piss me off.

It’s like they have these little secrets, little jokes that I’m not part of. While I was talking to Danny, I look over on the shelf by his bed and I see it - one of those devil curio things that I pulled out of that old brothel. A black one, ugly as sin. I tell you, a shiver ran down my fucking spine, seeing that reminder of Partridge. I lost my train of thought just seeing it, leering on my kid’s shelf like a miniature gargoyle. Christ, you’d have to be crazy to want that thing watching you while you sleep. I was steamed. So I went out and asked Mare what she thought she was doing, rubbing my face in it, putting that thing on Danny’s shelf like some sort of rebuke.

“It’s his guardian angel,” she says, not looking at me, just making dinner. “He likes it.” I almost slapped her again. Cause I feel like she’s sticking it to me, saying a thing like that. My kid doesn’t need a guardian angel. Guardian from what? His ass is covered. No bills, no rent, no stress. I’m the unlucky one. Is she trying to say I’m some kind of monster just because I raised my hands two times in ten years? 

Fuck.

I’m tired. I doubt I’ll write anymore but it feels good to get it out, I guess.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 6th, 2018**

Still tired. On top of all this mess, I think I’m getting sick. Head feels a bit fuzzy, aspirin didn’t help. I feel under the weather in other ways, too. 

No surprise but with how bad things have been, Mare and I haven’t exactly been having sex a lot. The romance goes out of things really fast when two people are at odds, but she’s still a woman - a good-looking woman, at that - and I’m still a man. You’d figure she’d realize she has a wife’s duty to fulfill in that department. But with this whole Partridge affair, the moving… we haven’t had any intimacy for two or three months. Yesterday I came up behind her as she was seasoning some stew. She was wearing that apron of hers, tied at the waist, showing off her butt in those yoga pants. I cupped her breast, pressed my crotch against her, kissed the back of her neck. Mare really does have a dynamite set of tits, and that’ll always be true no matter how bad things are at home, I suppose.

Well, she didn’t precisely shove me away, but she didn’t respond, either. I could have pressed the issue, but I didn’t. She needs space after what happened. But there’s only so much a man can take, you know?

Anyway, any guy knows the solution. I keep some spicy stuff on my laptop and I started looking at that when she took Danny shopping. Nothing perverse, just clips and images of women treating guys how they should be treated. If Mare isn’t going to take care of me, I’ll take care of myself. Except this time, something was wrong. It took me a long time to get hard, like the blood wasn’t flowing right or something. Even when I eventually did, I wasn’t feeling the pleasure I expected. After like twenty minutes I just gave up, if you can believe that.

I’m going to see a doctor tomorrow, embarrassing as it might be. Stress is no joke, it’s a bitch to not even be able to take pleasure in jerking off. I just hope it’s not cancer, or something like that. That’d be all I need.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 7th, 2018**

I dunno if I should write about this or what. First an update.

Saw the doc, did some tests. He made me drop my trousers and show him the goods, he took blood, he stuck one of those little swabs in the tip of my dick, the whole nine yards. I swear it’s this whole situation that’s got to me. Ungrateful wife, ungrateful kid, bad luck - it’s affecting me physically. When I had my underwear down I looked down at myself and my penis actually looked smaller. I asked the doctor if the stress could do something like that and he said yes, it could. But he wants to rule out cancer and other stuff, so, I’ll wait on the blood work.

Standing there with my flaccid cock out in that chilly office, noticing it seemed like it had shrunk, I felt so goddamn tired.

Mare has been going into the bathroom with Danny to help him bathe. His arm is in a cast, remember, and he can’t really use it too well. I guess he sprained his elbow pretty good too, in addition to the wrist fracture. She does it every night, I don’t know what to think about it. She’s coddling him too much. I asked her why he can’t just wash himself with his good hand and she shot me this look, like it was all my fault. She says Danny has been having nightmares ever since that day. I haven’t noticed anything. But I’ve been so tired, I sleep like the dead.

What is she saying to him in that bathroom? Turning him against me?

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 8th, 2018**

Had a shock. Mare went into the bathroom with Danny like she’s been doing all week, and I was on the the couch, laying down. I’ve been feeling depressed ever since Partridge went sour. I noticed she left the bathroom door open a crack, and every so often I can hear her voice over the running water, and the squeak of the faucet as she finished filling the basin. I got the sense they were whispering to each other.

I wanted to know what she was saying to him. Because it’s important to me she paint the whole incident in the proper light for him; that I was under pressure, unlucky, and I got screwed. I’m not a bad guy. But I could just imagine Mare in there with Danny, filling his head with a bunch of bullshit.

_Your father is a no-good idiot._

_Don’t listen to anything he says._

So I got up off the couch and approached the door. I could feel the heat of the bathroom wafting out, it’s a cramped, steamy place, the tub is build up against the back wall, just past the toilet and the sink. Barely wide enough for two people to squeeze past each other. 

Danny was sitting on the edge of the tub, and Mare was on her knees in front of Danny with her back to me. She was in her sleeveless blouse and skirt, swabbing him with a cloth. There was something vaguely sexual about the way she was kneeling in front of him (I don’t know what other way to put it), even though I’d seen her kneel in front of him a million times, straightening his pants, helping to tie his shoes when he was younger, this time it was different. Not because he was naked; every parent has seen their kid running around naked. It was the way she was washing him, like she was anointing him - dipping the cloth, wringing it out a little, swabbing it over his body. The reverence she was doing it with was obscene, as though our ten-year-old son was Jesus Christ or something.

I was listening at the door and I heard Mare breathing a little. Breathy noises, like she’s concentrating really hard. You know how you might breath if you’re doing something really intricate and you don’t want to fuck it up? It was like that. She’s dragging the cloth across his chest, swabbing his flesh, and it was like time was slowing down. I could hear the cloth scraping against Danny, I could see every droplet of water on his narrow, smooth chest  And then, while I was watching, she leaned forward… and started licking and sucking on one of Danny’s nipples.  

My breath caught in my throat. It was like I was seeing motherhood in a primitive tribe where the women use their tongues to clean, like it's some symbolic religious deal. I read once there are tribes out there on islands, tribes that have never seen civilization, and the mothers think nothing of holding their sons up and… well, you know. This was like that. And Danny had his small hand in her hair, guiding her mouth along. 

The weird part is, I actually got an erection. Even though I had tried to jerk off for twenty minutes  earlier that day with no result, it happened almost instantly, watching my wife lean forward and lick her tongue around my son’s chest, then purse her lips and make a wet sucking noise, and draw the flesh into her mouth. And then Danny let out this moan and his eyes shut so I could see those long lashes Mare was always gushing about. 

When he opened them again his eyes met mine for a second and he gave me this look. I’ll never forget it, because it wasn’t a ten-year-old’s face. I don’t even know how to describe it. There was a  _shade_  in his expression. With his mom doing what she was doing, he should have been scared or overwhelmed. But Danny wasn’t any of that. In that moment his face was burned into my memory; I could see the individual drops of perspiration on either side of his thin nose and glistening on his lips. His eyes were like ice. And he took his good hand, the one in Mare’s hair, and guided her face his flat, narrow pectoral area and lifted his arm.

Mare put her face in his armpit and gave him a big lick, up and down. Like she was drinking his sweat. Tasting him. And again I thought of that devil-tailed imp figure, I don’t know why. Maybe because of that look on Danny’s face that was about as far from a ten-year-old boy as you could get.

I shut the door then. It made a noise, maybe Mare heard me, I don’t know. Even if she did, she probably just thought I had pulled it shut from the outside.

Reading back over this now it seems like something out of an acid trip. Maybe I’ll go back and delete it later.

_Update 11:30 PM:_

It couldn’t have been like I thought. Mare can be a space-case but she’d never do something like that. And all that stuff I read into Danny’s expression is just me projecting. Danny is still having nightmares. Mare says she wants him to sleep in bed with us until he’s calmed down. Coddling again, but I guess now probably isn’t the right time to argue. She agreed not to press formal charges when things got out of hand. I guess I owe her that much. 

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 11th, 2018**  

I’m sick. Have to be. 

I looked at myself in the mirror today, pants down. Now, I’m not obsessed with it or anything, but I measured my cock once and it was three inches flaccid and about six hard. That was maybe ten years ago, and I’ve never noticed a change.

Now, it’s smaller. I don’t know how, but it is. At first I thought it was the cold, but I gave it some time to warm up and it’s still the same. Two inches flaccid instead of three. It looks like a little stub, you know, in that area of fat around the crotch?  Even trimming my pubic hair there’s no doubt, it’s smaller. 

What’s worse, it’s smaller when hard. I tried jerking off again, took my laptop into the bedroom and told Mare I needed some privacy to work out our finances. She was happy enough to not have me in the living room, I’m sure. Even looking at the naughtiest shit I could find, it took me more than half an hour to get hard. Once I did, my cock was definitely smaller. It was maybe four inches. Fuck.

Cancer. Gotta be. I don’t know if testicular cancer can cause your cock to shrink; I haven’t heard of anything like that, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Called the doc, he says no results for 1-2 weeks, to sit tight. He told me to check my testicles for lumps. “Or get your wife to help you,” he says. Fat chance of that. But I checked around and there are no lumps, no nothing. Just my familiar penis, same as ever except smaller than before.

Could stress do this?

Mare says Danny is going to sleep in bed with us tonight, he’s still having nightmares. I looked into his room, that figurine is still on his shelf. Christ, what would possess her to put it there? Ugly fucking thing. No wonder the kid is tossing and turning. Other than that, Mare and Danny’s moods seem better. I even heard Mare singing this morning.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 14th, 2018**

Mare is coming out of mood more and more. Maybe I don’t need this blog after all. Danny is still really withdrawn, but that business with the washroom seems like forever ago. (I’ll probably go back and delete the entry, honesty. Was I hallucinating?)

I’m still really tired. I don’t know what to compare it to. My mind feels fuzzy, limbs heavy. I’ve been sleeping a couple of extra hours each day. Told Mare yesterday about going to see the doctor, she said it seemed like a good idea. She actually made breakfast for us this morning, we ate as a family for the first time in a while. 

Danny ate like a horse, I’ve never seen the kid so ravenous. I guess it’s a welcome change from the last few weeks, since the incident. Seemed like had no appetite for a while. He’s been sleeping in the bed with us the past few nights, you know. Because of the nightmares. Sometimes I imagine I wake up to hear them talking or whispering together, but if I stir or shift on the bed, they quiet down. 

It’s weird to see them huddled up together, he’s not a toddler or a five-year-old anymore. Mare sleeps in her nightgown with nothing underneath, and Danny just wears underwear. She keeps her body between him and I, so I can’t really see. Is she holding him while he sleeps? More coddling. Stuff like that will affect a kid’s sex life. I’ll have to talk to her about it.

Christ, I’m tired. I’ve been taking some multivitamins, trying to shake this bug. Those test results can’t get back soon enough. I swear, it’s like something is draining the life out of me.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 16th, 2018**

Still tired. Looked in the mirror, it’s even worse. Maybe an inch and a half flaccid. Testicles shrinking, too. Tried to jerk off, nothing. Things are better with me an Mare, at least. Arguing less. Told her we’d play out our rent here and then haul stakes back west, start over. She rubbed my neck and kissed me on top of the head.

It should have felt good, but it felt weird. Like she wasn’t… I don’t know. Paying me any mind? I should be ecstatic she’s not nagging. But she’s been so serene around the house, singing, dressing up more… it’s like she’s forgotten not just our problems, but the marriage behind them. Does that make sense? I don’t know.

She kissed me more like a dog owner might kiss an old familiar dog that has no teeth left to bite with.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”, April 18th, 2018**

I’m writing this from a coffee shop. I don’t know when I’m going to go back to the apartment. Maybe never. Something happened, and I’m still wrapping my head around it, trying to make sense of what I saw.

Danny slept with us again last night. At 2 AM, my eyes just snapped open suddenly, as if I was waking up from a bad dream, though I couldn’t remember what it was. Even though I had no idea what the dream had been, I could feel it had been terrifying, if that makes sense. It took me a moment to get my bearings, and as I laid there, I started to hear noises from the other side of the bed. Really soft, subtle noises, but there was still no mistaking them. Kissing noises. The sort of sounds you might hear if two people went into a closet to make out at a high school party and you put your ear to the door, playing the voyeur. 

Mare was doing  _something_  to Danny. My mind immediately went back to that day when she was washing him in the bathroom. The way she cleaned him so worshipfully with her mouth. I had blocked it out, I guess, but it came flooding back, and my stomach turned to ice. Everybody knows the sound of making out, or oral sex, when they hear it. And this was like that. I just listened, sleep forgotten, I was perfectly still. I instinctively knew if I rolled over to look, whatever was going on might stop.

I rationalized. Maybe Danny was having one of those nightmares Mare mentioned, and she was kissing and cuddling him, trying to calm him down. But it didn’t sound like that. It sounded wet, and hungry, and  _full_. It sounded like a mouth struggling for more. I was afraid to look. Mare has been dressing up a bit more around the house, as I believe I have mentioned, and that extends to the bedroom as well. After wearing her dowdy old nightgown for nearly two years straight, the last couple of nights she’s gone back to wearing panties and a sleeveless undershirt, like she did in college. And let me tell you, her tits look great in those shirts. Her ass too, in those silky panties. I loved her ass back when we met, and now, a decade later, it’s bigger and better. 

Christ, why am I digressing like this? Maybe to avoid writing about what happened. Mare has a bit different lately, I guess, is my point. More like she was when things were better and we used to make love all the time.  _Fuck_  all the time, I should say.

It sounded like she was sucking on Danny's cock. 

I know there could be some other explanation, but I know a blowjob when I hear one. My wife,  _blowing_  our ten-year-old son! Can you believe that? Danny is maybe four feet tall, in order to do it she’d have to shift down on the bed a little, so her face was even with his pelvis. That’s where the noises were coming from, not from the pillow or the headboard, but further down the mattress. And like I said, Danny sleeps in his underwear. These tight boxer briefs. Kids can get away with being immodest like that, you know kids, they love running around naked. If she pulled them down over his slender little hips, he probably wouldn’t even object. She’s been washing him after all, bathing him while his arm was broken. The way I figure, she probably ran her washcloth over his penis and balls a time or two. 

And there’s one more reason I think it was a blowjob. The swallowing. After fifteen minutes I heard Danny moan. A high-pitched moan, you know. Maybe I could convince myself it was from a nightmare, if I didn’t also hear Mare swallowing at the same time.  _Gulping_ , more like. Like, I could hear Mare’s throat working. Swallowing isn’t a sound you hear often, but you know it when you hear it; and in the dead quiet of that room, I could hear it. 

My cock was actually rock hard, can you believe it? Christ, it’s enough to make you fucking cry. Forty minutes of jerking gets me nothing these days, but I hear something fucked up like this and it happens, totally involuntary. I’m not some freak or kiddy fiddler who gets off to the idea of his wife handling a young boy. 

I heard Marilyn cough, and then exhale and say ‘ _Oh, Danny_ ,” in this breathy voice. Like a whore who just had a really satisfying john roll off of her after a lay.

Did I really just write that? Looking back over this I feel like maybe I’m playing it up in my own head, remembering it worse than it was. I guess it’s possible, I’ve been under a ton of stress, and I’ve been sick, too. I’m going back to the doctor to discuss my results in two days. What did I really see? Nothing.

Some sounds. A single moan from a boy. And ‘Oh, Danny.’

I listened for maybe teh minutes more, but all I heard was the sound of soft breathing. Whatever they’d been doing, it was over. And I took the chance of tossing and rolling over, then. Marilyn was on her side, facing outward, shielding Danny with her body. I could see the swell of her hip making a perfect curve. And her ass. The way those medium-coverage panties were struggling to handle her round, full butt… even in the dimness of the room I could see the contrast they made with her moonlit skin. Her blonde hair was fanned out behind her, on the pillow.

I stared at her for a moment, and in that split second all I wanted to do was jerk off. But my cock was already flagging. I felt it in my shorts. Half hard it’s shorter than my finger now, and thinner. I really can’t get to that doctor soon enough. Pretty soon I was just feeling tired again. Tired and confused at what I’d heard. 

Maybe if that was all that happened I could laugh it off as my own mind playing tricks. But in the morning, I woke up late. Dog tired, still, and from the way the light was coming in, I could sense it was almost noon. I could hear dishes clanking in the kitchen. So I push myself up and then go to slide across the bed, you know? Because Mare sleeps closest to the door, I have to cross over her side of the mattress instead of walking all the way around it. It’s a small apartment, it’s easier that way.

I felt this big, cold, wet sensation on my thigh. I had slid across a big puddle on the mattress. My first thought was, ‘Did Danny wet the bed?’ He used to do that from time to time, though not for many years now. And maybe because of the nightmares, he had a relapse. And in that moment I started to tie it all together in my head, thinking the noises and moaning from the last night were just something innocent after all. Danny moaning in dismay, waking up after wetting the bed, Mare kissing him to comfort him.  _‘Oh, Danny’,_  an expression of sympathy, not lust.

I was actually glad. I’m ashamed to admit it, but… after the incident, I resented Danny a little. My own kid, turning against me. Acting like he doesn’t need me. And all of Mare’s coddling and all of their conniving and whispering, none of it amounted to anything, I told myself. The kid is acting all aloof but he still pisses the bed like a baby. And for all his mother’s special treatment, the washing and taking him into our room, it made not one bit of difference.

But when I raised my wet hand to look at it-

It was semen. The right side of the mattress, Mare’s side, was soaked in a pool of semen. A huge amount. More than any male could produce, I thought. I know it was semen, because I smelled it. There’s no mistaking that coppery scent, the scent I’ve always associated it with chlorinated pools. In that room, and in that moment, it flooded into my nostrils and was overpowering. It had a nasty smell underneath, too, like meat. My hand was coated with it, and looking down at the bedsheets, I could actually individual strands that were so thick, they hadn’t broken, and were still laying in the muck like discarded, bubbly shoelaces.

I realized my cock was hard again.

I wiped myself off and threw on some pants and a T-shirt, got in the car, and drove to this coffee shop. I’ve been here for seven hours. The only reason I’m able to write this is my briefcase happened to be in the car, with my laptop. 

Is it a practical joke? That semen didn’t come from me. And the only other male in my house is a ten year old kid. I think back to those swallowing noises… how full they sounded, and that flaking, black imp figuring leering on Danny’s shelf, the way that obscene woodcarved loincloth bulged, and

Nah, I’m not going into that. I need to calm down. I should just delete this post. Sounds like the ramblings of a crazy person. Could be just Mare screwing with me, somehow. Revenge for that day. She’s been calling on my cell, asking where I am. She says she wants to talk to me about Danny. I told her I’m alright, that I’d be ‘back soon’.

Doctor’s appointment tomorrow.  Checked in coffee shop bathroom. One inch.

Christ.  
  
---  
 


	2. April 19th - April 26th

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
April 19th, 2018**

Went home last night. Mare wanted to talk to me but I made an excuse, told her I was too tired and wasn’t feeling well. Hell, it was the truth. I fell asleep on the couch. When I was dozing I remember a hazy image of Mare going to bed - she was in her panties and her nightshirt, walking in her bare feed, and I could see her ass bouncing as she moved - but I never followed her. It was like I had lead weights on all my limbs. You know that feeling you get when you have the flu or mono, and you’re just dead tired? It was like that, but just the fatigue. I’m not stuffed up, lymph nodes aren’t swollen. I checked. But whatever this is, it’s really knocked me on my ass.

This morning I went to see the doc. This fucking quack, he tells me the tests didn’t show anything! I just about exploded in his office. How is that possible? It was crushing to hear, because that diagnosis is what I need to make sense of all this weird shit. The fatigue, the shrinkage - my penis is wasting away to the size of a cocktail weenie, and this guy is telling me the tests are inconclusive? 

I made him take me through it step by step - I’m not going to get bamboozled by a bunch of medical mumbo-jumbo. There are no elevated levels of anything that would mark cancer. I already told you there are no lumps. He says that cancers in other parts of the body can cause strange symptoms elsewhere - paraneoplastic symptoms - but he’s never observed symptoms quite like mine. He’s now, he says, going on the theory that I might have some sort of specialized damage to my prostate, perhaps combined with ‘constricted blood flow to the penis’, due to partial arterial blockage. But he doesn’t sound too convinced.

Seeing that bewildered look on his face gave me a scare. Doctors can be frustrating, but there’s nothing more frightening than seeing one glance at your chart and just shake his head. Because in that moment I could tell he wasn’t trying to put one over on me or bullshit me, he wasn’t being vague just to cover his ass or make me feel better - he was legitimately confused by the test results. He’s scheduled me for a colonoscopy (fucking great, just what I need) and something called a total testosterone test. Before it was all over, I had to drop my trousers and show him how much worse things had gotten in just a couple weeks time.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Lyle,” he said. “With one symptom this acute, the related symptoms can’t hide forever. We’ll have a clearer picture soon enough.” Standing there in his cold office, shivering with my one-inch cock barely poking out of my pubic area, I swear, I just felt like crying. It’s like the world has it out for me or something. What did I ever do to deserve this much shitty luck? Sometimes I just feel like strangling Ted. It was his stupid idea that started this whole mess.

I thought about Mare, how good she looked in her panties and her sleeveless undershirt, walking toward the bedroom. You know how a woman can look when her panties are nice and tight, showing off just how much hip and thigh and rear she has, so the fabric cuts into her skin just a little? That was Mare. But even great as she’s looking, and as improved as her mood has been, how can I engage sexually with her now, with my cock like this?

Fuck me.

 

UPDATE 11:00 PM

I’m not paranoid, I’m not crazy. Something strange is going on.

Keeping starting sentences and erasing them. Danny, Mare. Can’t think about this right now. So tired. Have to sleep.

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
April 20th, 2018**

At the coffee shop again. Can’t bear to be in the apartment.

I’m not crazy. I’m not paranoid. This is real.

Mare grabbed me yesterday afternoon, soon as I was in the door from seeing the doc. Said she wanted to talk about ‘a problem with Danny’. Something was wrong. It was maybe 2 in the afternoon but she hadn’t even gotten dressed. I wanted to scream at her, tell her that I had my own fucking problems, she and the kid were obviously doing fine, they weren’t the one with visiting the doctor, feeling tired all the time, having problems with their privates. I felt the anger flare inside me, that same anger that came up when we had that incident… but it died away almost as fast. I didn’t have it in me to smack her again. 

Besides, there was a weird quality about her mood. 

I don’t even know what to compare it to. Like I said, she hadn’t dressed. She was still in the undershirt and panties she slept in - really sheer panties, I could see every detail - and her hair was kinda tangled. She still looked beautiful, but a wild, fucked-up kind of beautiful, you know? The only thing I can compare it to is a like a young girl strung out on drugs; pills, heroine, or whatever. Still gorgeous but she’s not taking care of herself, she forgets to dress or brush her hair, that sort of thing. 

She took me by the wrist and I noticed the front of her undershirt had a big stain on it, a wet, greasy dark patch with a sort of creamy color. Looking closer, I saw these dried smears on her chest, in her cleavage. And there was this scent in the air. That same scent from the bedroom, when I woke up that day with a huge puddle of semen on the bed. Suddenly I very much didn’t want to go back into that room, but that was where Mare was leading me, her bare feet pattering on the floor. She was saying something, something about Danny, but I don’t remember what. “Come and see your son,” she said. I should have been concerned, you know? Like something was wrong with Danny. But Mare wasn’t hysterical or worried, it was more like she’d been keeping a secret. (I know how that feels, considering what I’ve got going on below the waist right now.)

Danny was standing against the wall, as if he was waiting for us, wearing only red boxer briefs with white piping down the side. I was struck by how thin he looked, just a slender little kid with a tangle of sandy-blonde hair around his head. And there was something else. It looked like Danny had something stuffed down the front of his underwear. A big sausage or something, like a kielbasa you’d get at the butcher shop. At first I thought Mare was playing a joke on me, revenge for that slap I gave her. I haven’t told her about what’s going on with my cock - I wanted to sort it out myself - but I figured she somehow found out and wanted to needle me about it. She’d arranged it, I thought, to make it look like our son had an enormous, flaccid penis satcheled in the front of his briefs, so weighty that it was nearly pulling the waistband down. Seeing something of that grotesque a size bulging from the crotch of a little kid was a total shock. 

I was about to call her out for making this sick a joke at the expense of my health, and even worse, involving the kid in it. I know Danny and I haven’t been the closest, but he’s still my flesh and blood, my male heir. For Mare to do something like that was above and beyond, no matter what I did to her.

I walked marched over to him. I’m sure I had the same look on my face I’ve had before while I was about to spank him or yell at him, but this time Danny didn’t flinch, and that was strange too. Danny has always been an emotional kid - that’s what Mare always says, ‘cute, but emotional’ and that description always pissed me off, too, like he’s a bitch or something - but this time the kid was cool as a cucumber. He showed no fear at all, and that made me even more pissed. He had this look on his face, this confident, knowing stare. In that moment I flashed back to the time I saw him in the bathroom, with his mother... cleaning him. He gave me that same look then, not a kid but a confident, old campaigner. 

And… his eyes were different.

I don’t know. Never mind that.

My point is, exposed in just his undies, Danny should have been embarrassed, but there was none of that in his face. He was in on it, I decided. Mare had poisoned him against me to the extent that he’d actually take part in a sick joke like this, making fun of his own dad. Well, I wasn’t going to stand for that shit. A mother turning a son against his father, that’s unnatural. I reached down to the waistband of his underwear and tugged them straight down his legs in one motion, roughly. I expected whatever Mare stuffed down there to go rolling onto the floor, and I then I was going to spank his bare ass as punishment, give him a few good whacks. That would teach him to disrespect me. Then, I’d send him out of the room and Mare and I would have it out. To my mind, her bringing Danny into it was just more proof she was hysterical and overreacting to what happened between us.

But I only got as far as the planning. I never brought my hand to bear against Danny, because there was nothing fake about what was in Danny’s underwear. 

When I pulled his boxer briefs down his hips, it revealed a huge, hanging, flaccid penis. 

It was nothing like I remember. I last saw him naked… what? Eighteen months ago? Change room at a beach? It had been small then, like a pinky finger. Now, it was enormous, a joke prosthesis for a raunchy prank, except  _real_. I could tell it was real, from the way the skin was a shade darker than his naked thighs, how it seamlessly attached to the smooth mound of his pubis, the obscene size and weight of it. It hung down to his knee, and under the base of the shaft were two enormous, smooth balls that couldn’t fit between his thighs as he stood with his legs together.

I know it sounds crazy. It’s impossible, right? No kid could have a penis that big. Even if Danny were an early bloomer, hitting puberty at 10, it was impossible. Flaccid, it had to be fourteen inches long, and thick, like an elephant’s trunk. 

Adding to the unreality, Danny didn’t react at all when I pulled down his shorts. I’d meant to scare him, I expected him to cringe or flinch or cover himself. To cry, you know, like a kid will do when he’s that age. Hell, I’d  _wanted_  him to cry. I’d  _wanted_  to show him he had done something wrong by playing his mother’s games. But Danny didn’t even move. He just kept looking at me with eyes that seemed grey, and darker than usual.

Those eyes. I thought back again to that figurine on his shelf, and

No, no. I’m not going to write that.

I just felt so tired, worn out and defeated. To look at Danny’s penis, and contrast it to what it happened to mine… in that moment, I hated him. I hated that expression on his face, I hated his youth. The way his skin was flawless and unencumbered by the scars and the flab and the pock-marks that come with getting old. I hated him for the effortless beauty that comes with being a kid, and also for that size between his legs. Hell, I’d looked in the mirror just that morning and there was a ghost of a man looking back. Pasty, pale skin. Drooping muscles. Ingrown hairs  and burst veins and squiggling blood vessels from all the stress and fitful sleep.

To see Danny looking so unaffected and free and filled with vigor, it was crushing. All the energy I’ve been missing, it was like it had transferred over to him. My hand fell to my side. Suddenly, I didn’t want to spank him anymore. I just wanted to leave. Get out of that room as fast as possible.

Mare was on her knees next to Danny. She reached out and grabbed his length, holding it up and looking at me. “Look at this size!” she exclaimed, earnestly addressing me, playing it totally straight. “This isn’t normal for such a young boy!” Compared to her forearm I could see how massive he was. My own son, making me look like an infant by comparison.  _Come and see your son,_ she’d said. Now it was like she was forcing me to look.

And sure, I’ve seen pictures of weird medical curiosities where someone really does have something weird going on with their penis, some African tribesman’s dick growing out of control because of a tumor or something. There have been cases of abnormal penis development in toddlers because of accidental exposure to testosterone cream. (I looked this up many hours later, looking for any plausible explanation.) Maybe in another place and time I would have put the strangeness of the scene aside and asked those questions on the spot, because a pre-teen boy with a fourteen inch cock is  _not_ normal. But this wasn’t some medical mystery. Danny’s cock was just  _huge_. And Mare’s indecent handling of it, and the expression on Danny’s face (which I now thought was quite smug), were both so off-putting and wrong.

I don’t remember exactly what I said or did. I think I just stood there, feeling overwhelmed and speechless. 

“It’s longer than my arm!” Mare was saying. “And his balls are so swollen!” I took a few steps back. She was holding Danny with reverence, a temple maiden with a holy artifact. I couldn’t stop looking at the stains all over her nightclothes and her tangled hair. And the smell. That smell of semen, seeming to fill the room. 

I heard a churning noise and looked down at Danny’s uncircumsized, hanging dick. Even with Mare holding it up under the shaft and balls, the end drooped down toward the floor. As I watched, a white curd of barely-liquid jelly slid from the tip and splattered down in a bubbly pile. Effortlessly, without even being hard, he’d ejaculated more than I had been able to produce in months.

Mare bit her lower lip and looked up at me. Her tongue passed over her teeth. She didn’t look like a concerned mother. In that stained undershirt and those filmy, barely-there panties, she looked wild and wanton and ready to fuck. 

Then Danny spoke. “Is something wrong, dad?” It was like two voices playing in stereo, and in haunted me to my core. It was a normal kid voice, Danny’s voice, and another. He smiled an impish grin, and I realized I had an erection. 

I ran. Straight from the bedroom to the living room, my heart beating fast. And I heard a child’s high-pitched laughter coming from behind me.

 

UPDATE 3 AM??:

Slept another five hours. It’s the middle of the night and I’m still on the couch. So tired. But removed from that encounter in the bedroom I feel like I have my wits again. 

That voice. Was it just puberty? Is Danny’s voice changing? No. It was more like two voices at once. I know what I heard. I’m not crazy. After I left the bedroom… they stayed there together for a very long time. They’re still in there now as I type this, sleeping. But sometimes I hear them whispering to each other. 

And sometimes I think I hear-

No, I don’t want to write about that. I have to be sure.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
April 22nd, 2018**

Didn’t go to the appointment for the colonoscopy. I don’t think it’ll help. Something else is going on. Has to be. Mare and I haven’t really talked since the bedroom incident. We go about our business - chores, groceries, Mare home-schooling Danny (moving across the country for the Partridge dig, we had to pull him out of school, and Mare was bitter about that, of course) - but we don’t really speak except to share essential information. 

Danny has started walking around the house in just his underwear, showing a lack of shame that’s more like a toddler than a boy who is just going through puberty. But * _is*_  he going through puberty? I don’t know. No pubic hair evident. Shoulders aren’t wider. He hasn’t changed much at all, except for down there. 

More and more it feels like

I don’t know.  

Like it’s not Danny at all. 

As recently as a month ago, Danny was always shy around me. He feared my temper, you see. (It makes a sick smile come to my face to think of that now.) This “New Danny” barely seems to acknowledge me. Heck, that goes for Mare too. And that’s somehow much worse than when they feared my temper. Hell, I never meant to play the heavy, I only did what I had to do, to discipline my wife and son. But at least in those days, they paid me some mind.

Now, it’s like… like I’m fading away.

Danny moves differently. When he sits down to watch TV or read, at first glance it might seem like the same old Danny. But the way he languishes, spread-legged, letting his thighs fall open to show the heavy bulge that huge penis makes in his underwear… he seems like such a sexual being. Not like a kid at all. Certainly not like a toddler who doesn’t realize his own nakedness. It’s like he knows, and he’s showing off.

 

UPDATE 9 PM:

Was sitting at kitchen table, typing this. Danny walked to the bathroom to pee (still wearing just his underwear). Usually he closes the door, but this time he didn’t. Even though I was in direct line of sight to the end of the hall and the bathroom door, he just pulled his dick out over his waistband and pissed, paying me no mind. His long cock would have drooped into the toilet water if he didn’t hold it up like a big, fat hose and take aim.

His stream was unbelievably powerful, like a horse, and within a few seconds I could smell Danny’s piss all the way out in the kitchen. I opened my mouth to tell the kid to shut the damn door, but his pissing was just so  _loud_. It even drew Mare over reading in the living room. She leaned against the hallway and watched him.

He pissed for more than a minute straight. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but try counting it off in your head, one second to sixty. It’s a long time, and sitting there at the kitchen table, it felt longer. 

I looked in Mare’s face. It was filled with something like awe, and I had to look away. When Danny was finally done, she turned to me and said he’d be sleeping with us again that night.

The look on her face...

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
April 23nd, 2018**

It’s worse than I thought, what’s going on. Right under my nose, right behind my back.

Had two cups of coffee before bed last night and made a point to lie down but not doze off right away. Even with all the caffeine, it was still difficult. Whatever is happening to me, it really saps my strength.  I just lay there with the sheet drawn up like a man in his death shroud, willing myself not to doze off. I actually had to concentrate just to stay alert, can you believe that? I felt like a driver who had been on the road for about eighteen hours, nodding off, blinking myself back awake.

But I had to know.

Mare and Danny stirred and whispered a bit as the night went on, but I couldn’t make out the details. Mare did most of the talking. I got the sense she was asking Danny something, but I couldn’t shift to take a closer look without them realizing I wasn’t asleep. At first, I thought maybe nothing was going to happen. It must have been about 1 AM when Mare moved on the bed - I felt the covers pull - and her weight moved nearer the foot of the mattress.  I let my eyes slip open a tad. It was dim, but there was still enough light to see what was going on. 

Danny was on his belly, totally naked, and Mare was pressing her cheek against his backside, hugging him around the legs. I could see the way the weight of her head was pressing down on his flesh. Then, she turned her mouth into the milky, soft crescent of his buttock and kissed him there. I heard the sound of lips smacking gently, and I realized  _I’d heard those sounds before_ , since Danny started sleeping in our bed. I’d assumed she was kissing his forehead, stroking his hair, coddling shit like that. But this-

I don’t know how long it went on, her kissing him there. It seemed like forever, but maybe it was only two or three minutes. I felt so disgusted, seeing Mare act so worshipful toward Danny. I’m no pervert; in our marriage I never asked her for much kinky stuff. So I was struck by how different she was acting, and how much she seemed to love kissing and nuzzling her nose and lips against Danny’s ass.

Then I heard her whisper, “Let mommy take care of you,” and I felt my stomach tie in knots. Christ, I can’t believe I’m typing this. But I swear I saw it. She spread Danny’s cheeks, each hand filled with one half of his smooth, young ass, and started licking his asshole. It wasn’t some hesitant thing. She seemed so  _hungry_  for him. Even in our most amorous days, Mare never looked at me that way, never touched me like that. Sitting here now, writing this, I can’t get it out of my head. The way she  _groped_  him, moaning and breathing harshly, as though his flesh was her personal pleasure to touch… it was obscene and unnatural. As she licked, she would dip her head lower, pressing her nose against the place between Danny’s asshole and balls, where the swollen root of his huge cock attached this body, inhaling deeply, sniffing him like an animal. She had Danny’s penis pulled back through his legs, it was resting on the sheets like a length of firehose, snaking a little because it was still half-hard. 

Mare started to suck Danny’s balls. Each one was so big she couldn’t even put it in her mouth, but she ran her mouth over them, making wet kissing noises and getting them wet with spit. It made my stomach turn. She looked wild and untamed, but that beauty - the way her blonde hair spilled down over her shoulders, the way her breasts hung heavy in her undershirt, the nipples making little mounds in the cotton - was at odds with her disgusting behavior. Can you imagine? My wife, orally servicing my ten-year-old son, right there in our marital bed!

Mare did not let any taboo stop her in what she did. She buried her tongue in Danny’s pink, puffy asshole, rimming him deep. Her mouth formed a complete seal around him, seeming to relish how he moaned and arched his back. Her hands groped his cheeks as she sucked, her cheeks hollowing and her lips elongating, and when she withdrew to catch her breath, fat strands of saliva formed bridges that connected her mouth to his glistening hole. She smeared these all over his undercarriage as she ran the flat of her tongue up and down his taint, licking shaft and balls until everything was glistening with spit.

I stole a look at Danny. His long hair was obscuring some of his face, but the way his eyes were squinted shut and his moist lips trembling, I could tell he was enjoying what was being done as he lay with his cheek on the pillow, head turned in my direction. I was struck by way the dim lights seemed to dance on the few spring freckles on the bridge of his nose, and on his shoulders. I could see his ribcage down his side, subtly floating just beneath the surface of his skin, and again I was struck by the unfairness of it all. Mare was right. Danny really could be a kid in one of those catalogues, modeling hoodies and back-to-school jeans, and she was smitten enough with him to kiss him in a way no mother ever should.   

After a few minutes, Danny raised his pelvis up off the mattress, getting to his hands and knees, and Mare began to milk his cock downward, tugging him like a zookeeper relieving some enormous beast. Pre-cum was sliding from his tip, huge amounts of it, and suddenly it became clear why the sheets had been soaked in the mornings for nearly a week. I realized that Mare had been doing this every night, and leaving me to slide across the remainder of Danny’s huge, sticky loads. This combined handjob and rimjob continued for several minutes, with Mare sometimes removing moving her mouth to kiss and lick at Danny’s balls, taint or buttocks. She nuzzled his balls as if they were personal treasures, and whispered to him as she weighed their fullness in her palms.

“You’re so backed up,” she said, sotto voce. “It’s okay, darling, let mommy help you. Show mommy your  _huge, thick load_.” 

The smell of semen was getting thicker as Danny’s pisshole continued to leak onto the mattress, and soon the emissions were getting cloudier and thicker as Mare’s milking, rimming sexual service brought Danny to the edge. Eventually, Danny moaned - the only sound I heard him make - and then there was another sound, like liquid being squeezed from a squirt bottle, as a fat, glistening rope of semen poured out of his dickhole. It was like what I’d seen a few days before, in the bedroom, except even thicker, and there was much more of it. It was like jelly as it blasted out of his pipe and puddled on the bed, and Mare was moaning as she jerked and milked Danny, encouraging him to shoot more. 

His semen was so  _thick_. Rope after huge, heavy rope. And just when I thought he might be finished, Mare kissed his buttock, her lips indenting the soft flesh, whispering she knew he had more, she knew he had the  _good stuff_ , deep in his balls. She stuffed her tongue deep in his ass again and there was a noise, a low, bubbling, spewing noise, as I actually saw Danny’s swollen protruding cum-tube bulge as he added to the off-white puddle under him with more blasts of nasty, backed-up semen. Even in the dim light I could see how different the color became as his orgasm subsided, the thickest ropes were almost yellow and filled with gooey chunks, and the stench of it immediately filled the bedroom, the overpowering scent of semen and something else. I don’t know how to describe it. Something unpleasant. 

Mare swooned when she the amount of his release, like a girl fawning over her favorite rock star. She praised him, kissing his balls and the tip of his cock, telling Danny how much she loved him and his massive loads. There was so much pride in her voice. She slid back up the bed and wrapped her arms around him, and they cuddled and settled in with his mess congealing beside them.

My heart was beating a mile a minute. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, smelling semen and sweat of a rutting mother and son. Had I been laying beside them as they did this, asleep, breathing in the miasma of my son’s thick semen and Mare’s wet, horny pussy, every night?  I had an erection again, and touched myself experimentally. I felt a bolt of pleasure like I hadn’t experienced in a month, since this all began. Why?

I don’t know why. But the pleasure was so intense… I couldn’t help but finish. That’s the worst part - that I was so tired of feeling nothing… so beaten down from all my bad luck, I couldn’t resist taking whatever pleasure I could. My dick felt about the length of a paper clip. My hand was too big to handle it, I had to use four fingers and rub it up and down. An image came to my mind, totally unbidden. Mare on her back, crying out in orgasm as Danny fucked her. He’s clutching her waist, head between her large breasts, ejaculating into her, filling her with rope after rope of that thick, yellow trash I just saw him spray all over the mattress. To think, a ten-year-old kid, his hairless pink asshole slick from a rimjob, fucking my wife, filling her, drowning her fertile eggs in that  _slop_.

I came. Like I said, I couldn’t help it. And when I did, a tiny drop of wetness dripped from my pisshole and onto my thumb. It was as thin as water.

One drop. 

Whatever compelled me, it disappeared quickly with my orgasm, and I felt dead tired again. I fell asleep after that. I think I had dreams, though I don’t remember them. God, what is happening?

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
April 26th, 2018**

I’ve been weighing my options. Three days of waking, eating, sleeping, biding my time. I haven’t let on that anything’s wrong or that I feel like things are out of place. Mostly I’m packing up some stuff since we’re going to get evicted eventually; putting our belongings into boxes, sealing them, and marking them has been a welcome distraction from this mess. Rent is due on the 1st and we’re going to miss it, I figure after that we have 1-2 weeks before they give us the bum’s rush.

Danny and Mare are getting more brazen. Yesterday at breakfast, Danny sat at the kitchen table totally naked. Mare was in nothing but a bra and panties. She cooked him bacon, eggs, toast, gave him two glasses of orange juice. He ate like a wolf. She ignored me, didn’t serve me shit. Didn’t even cook me anything. Showing zero respect, right in front of the kid. And when she sat down to eat and I saw her plate, I lost my appetite. Eggs, bacon, and toast again… but there was semen splattered all over it. Big, thick strands of semen. She lifted one forkful of eggs to her mouth and I could see the big, stringy rope of chunky cum dangling from it before she sucked it down. Yet she acted like nothing was wrong, and gave me this knowing, condescending smile.

_I didn’t even make you any food_ , her face said.  _I don’t really think about you anymore, John. You’re toothless. I only think about Danny. Your son, who has a penis that is fifteen inches longer than yours and makes you look like a total fag. I jacked his big dick off onto my breakfast because I love eating his cum so much. When’s the last time I even kissed you goodnight? You’re wasting away, John. You’re tired and sick and fading like a ghost. And now you’re going to sit here and watch us eat while your ten-year-old kid’s monster cock flops underneath the table._

I could have choked her. But I had an erection again, too. My cock has shrunk to less than an inch flaccid, I’m almost afraid to look anymore. I just sat there and took the indignity. It was too tired to start a fight. 

“Do you want some, John?” she asked, extending her next forkful toward me. A piece of bacon with a fat, lumpy wad of jizz stuck to it. I told her I’d pass, and she ate it with obscene relish, wrapping her tongue around it before savoring every bite. From now on, I don’t think I’ll eat Mare’s cooking at all, actually. I’ll stick to protein breakfast bars. And you should have seen the look Danny gave me. This little shit-eating smile, like he knew exactly what was going on and found it hilarious. This is not just me projecting, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Ten-year-olds can be really naive, but they’re also  _sly_ , you know? And Danny always was a smart kid.

So, options.

I could go to the police and tell them what Mare is doing. It’s a clear-cut case of child abuse. But would that even work? They’re obviously in it together. She’s poisoned Danny against me, I’m sure of it, and they would lie each other up. They’d make it seem like I was just a paranoid man making perverse allegations. Sure, maybe a detective could sit Danny down and get the truth out of him. Kids are usually bad at lying, right? But then I think about how Danny has been the last few days. Like I said, he’s sly. Often I catch him looking at me with this condescending little sneer on his face. Once, I confronted him about it and he denied it: “I wasn’t looking at you, dad. Geez, don’t be so paranoid.”

See that? Lying. And it was  _effortless_  for him. He used to be such an earnest boy, but now it comes naturally to him to hide things. If I were to go to the cops he’d just do the same. And that’s not all. Because of the nature of the… of what they’re doing, the police would be laughing up their sleeves. Adding to my humiliation.

_Hey, did you see the report that guy whose wife started fucking his son? Apparently the son has a huge penis!_

Then they’d all have a good guffaw, those pigs. Besides, even if Mare goes off to jail (or more likely a mental hospital, with the way she’s been acting), what have I really won? I get custody of a kid who doesn’t respect me, blames me for what I did to his mom, a kid who is changing in ways I don’t understand. He scares me a little, honestly. The way his voice was that one time, I can’t think of any explanation. And when so many inexplicable things are happening at once, a guy can’t help but feel like he’s going a little batshit.

I don’t want to send Mare to prison and fuck up the family even more than it already is. I just want things to be the way they were. Me as the breadwinner. Mare as the obedient and respectful wife. A son that I can relate to, who wants to learn things from me. I want to get back to that. I want them to look to me as an authority figure, not just as some impediment around the house to be ignored. And yeah, if I raise my hand at them again, I want to see concern in their eyes, concern about what they did to upset me. I want to see RESPECT. It’s not just the sexual things they’re doing and all that means legally or whatever. It’s that I feel like I’m being made a fool of. I want satisfaction for that wrong.

It was Partridge. Partridge is when things went south and started to change. It’s like when I left that speakeasy, dusty and forlorn and with storage bins of old newspapers and trash that turned out to be basically worthless, a curse came back home with me.

My mind always returns to that horny devil curio, the one Mare put on the shelf next to Danny’s bed. And the  _maloika_. I think of all the reasons I’m not going to go to the police, this is the main one: I can’t go to the police because what’s happening doesn’t make sense. It’s borderline supernatural. 

No, no police. I’m going to email that collector, the guy who turned me down on the sale. I think his name was Simons. And I’m going to go back to the doctor, act like the good husband, act like nothing’s wrong, while I figure this out. If Danny can be sly, I can play possum as well.

This is the first time since this all happened that I feel like I have a plan.


	3. May 2nd - May 8th

**from:**   **Cam Simons <cam@simonscollect.com>  
to:**  **John Lyle <eaglejlyle@bcmail.com>  
date:**  **Sat, May 2nd, 2018 at 11:30 AM**  
subject:  Re: Follow Up On Partridge Reclamation

Hi Mr. Lyle,

I suppose I should apologize. When you came to see me those months ago, I feel like was short with you - not my typical way of dealing with a customer, or anyone for that matter. It’s foolish for a historian to say, but those figurines you brought gave me a hell of a feeling of unease, and I rushed you out the door because of that. Since that day, I’ve thought about our brief interaction every so often, and so it was with some relief that I saw your email in my inbox, giving me a chance to make right. 

Looking at those figurines via your enclosed photos is much more agreeable to me than handling them personally. Call it the weakness of a superstitious old man, but I’ve handled artifacts from before the Civil War, tomahawks and revolvers that were no doubt used to commit all manner of violence, I’ve even had an old woman show me a piece of embroidery still stained red with the blood of her identical twin, murdered by her husband, so she said, around the time of the second World War. She told me it contained some of her sister’s spirit, and she spoke with great conviction. Yet I held it, examined it, and felt nothing. My point is, I’ve felt no sense of foreboding quite like what I experienced when I had your strange little statue in my hands that day.

I feel like I owe you. So per your request, I did some research, and I’ll tell you all I know.

It probably won’t surprise you to learn that religion quickly mutates and goes wild, like an untrimmed hedge, the further it gets from the orthodoxy. In the time of the rum-runners this was especially true as people stuck to reconcile drinking with god. Any man who enjoyed a good drink would naturally gravitate toward an interpretation of the bible that would not condemn him to hell for it, for the most fervently religious people at the time were in favor of temperance and likely to turn their backs on him. Once those compromises started, they didn’t stop. A man would find a priest who would say it was okay to take a drink, and then what next? A priest who could offer god’s forgiveness (if not outright permission) to do a little whoring or a little gambling. Preachers who could twist the word of god to give justification to the scoundrels of the day were in high demand, and as as they tended to their scoundrel flocks, they themselves partook.

What is the point of all this? I’ll get there, I just need you to understand that religion comes in many shapes and forms, born from a mix of tradition and circumstance. Even prostitutes need a god to pray to, Mr. Lyle, one who would forgive them their fornications and thefts and help them through the day to day of their wretched lives, help them suffer the beatings of the pimps and the depravities of their clientele. As it so happens, about half of the prostitutes in the Partridge speakeasy had Creole heritage, having come from a place in the American south, down on the bayou. This is readily apparent in the correspondence that was uncovered from the site. When they came to New England, they brought their  _brujas_  and  _gris gris_  with them, and the huckster holy men who had intercourse with them were all too happy to bring some of that bayou magic into their sermons.

The result was a church of a new kind, part Catholic, part hoodoo, and the end result very different from either. Talk of hellfire and repentance mixed with loas and voodoo dolls, the Book of Revelations, omens and portents. In backwater churches the rum-runners, thugs and bandits would hold a strange mass with their bayou prostitutes, and the preachers would justify all of their ills. A special sort of witchcraft with a dark reflection of Jesus Christ lurking in the shadows, a loa Jesus Christ who would forgive all of their sins and bring vengeance on the men who mistreated them. Who would make their tongues turn black for their slurs and their genitals rot off for their unbidden affections.

I believe you’ve come into possession of some artifacts from such a sect. My question for you is, how much are you prepared to believe? I won’t be asshole enough to disregard the evidence of my own experience. I had that statue in my hand and I  _felt_  something. Since you emailed me to follow up, I assume you are feeling something too. Or perhaps experiencing something more.

Here’s all the information I have. The idol seems to represent a figure born from a mish-mash of Catholic, druidic and Creole voodoo tradition. There are two distinct presences represented. The letters you recovered refer to these as the Little Sister and the Little Brother (your colleague Ted Shaw, to whose research you directed me, seems to have missed the significance of these terms in the prostitute diaries). They are also called Thanatonica and Xandernath, and from my research, seem to represent the old Mesopotamian notion of succubus and incubus that would eventually appear in the Book of Genesis. 

The Little Brother, Xandernath, is the one represented in the vast majority of your curios. The prostitutes believed that he watched over them as they worked and as they slept. Some of their letters describe seeing him in dreams, in the form of a delicate boy with refined, streamlined features who promised to take vengeance on abusive men, in exchange for part of their body and soul - a part, I must say, they seemed happy to give. The Creole prostitutes called him  _Touyeboy_ , which literally means  _MurderBoy_. To them, he was a loa, and the statues you recovered were carved by their hands as talismans.

This is where it gets delicate. I’m not going to turn you down, not after what I felt, but I get the sense in your email that you are looking for a sort of ‘remedy’ to these presences. Before undertaking any harmful of potentially dangerous rites of exorcism (a practice largely out of favor in this country, I should warn you), you must be honest with yourself and ask if this entire preoccupation might just be a projection on your part. I don’t mean disrespect. But sometimes when life takes a tragic turn, the tendency to look for external causes can be strong.

Please consider carefully, whatever you intend.

Anyhow, as for what I promised. I’ve attached as a text file a list of spirit banishing rites and associated ingredients that this combination of religions has in common. Perhaps, if you’ve sent this email out of simple curiosity, you’ll find them interesting from an scholarly perspective. I cannot vouch for their efficacy as genuine remedies for… whatever might be troubling you.

Yours respectfully,

Calvin Simons

Owner/Operator

Simons Artifacts and Collectibles

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
May 3rd, 2018**

There’s a  _thing_  inside my kid. 

I know it sounds crazy. Writing it, I almost  _feel_  crazy. I’m the not the sort of guy to entertain a bunch of bullshit, superstitions and jumping at shadows. Always been that way. Mare asked me to get a tarot reading once, for fun, you know? I rolled my eyes so much the fortune teller hustled us out of there. Mare said I needed to get a sense of humor, but what do I need besides what I can see with my own eyes? Even at BC the religious aspects of school always pissed me off. I don’t go on faith. When I had to profess belief in god, I did it with gritted teeth.

How is this different? Well, I  _have_  seen this. Evidence of  _something_. A presence within Danny. 

Simons sounded ready to check me into the nuthouse, but he gave me the information I needed, and it all basically fits the facts. I didn’t do anything right away, or act rashly. I decided I’d bide my time, and really make sure.

I’ve been watching Danny closely for the last few days, not just seeing him but really  _watching_  him, how he moves, how he interacts with the world. What I’ve seen is startling. At first I had to force myself to watch him; it’s easier to look away, since he’s so  _brash_  about everything. Not really like a kid at all. Sure, he  _looks_  like a kid - the slender body, the height, that mop of hair - but there’s a darkness inside him, one that knows exactly how to push my buttons. He typically walks around the house bottomless now, letting his penis swing free. In the mornings, Mare washes him in the bathroom. It’s just off from the bedroom so even if I’m lying down, I can hear every detail. Sometimes, this happens after I’ve gotten out of bed, and they always do it with the bathroom door open, and Danny setting on the edge of the tub. The way she’s so worshipful of him, kissing his body, cleaning him, I couldn’t help but think about what Simons wrote, that the ‘Little Brother’ is an incubus. A demon that comes to women at night, and messes with their minds.

It would explain a lot. She has absolutely no shame in what she does to him, right in front of me. This morning she was naked, kneeling by the bathtub, bending forward so she could use her mouth to wash Danny’s balls. She made a big show of sniffing his sack, pulling the hot, smooth skin of his scrotum with her lips, rolling his testicles around inside. Danny looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with me while I was slumped at the kitchen table. I just tried to look tired and defeated, and not let on about why I had been watching. It was not hard.

The rest of the morning routine followed. Each morning after Mare cleans him, he urinates in front of me, making sure I can see every detail of his cock spraying into the toilet bowl. Mare kneels beside him submissively as he does this, and then wipes his cock off, planting a kiss on his pisshole to conclude the act. She does this every time he pisses. Sometimes she uses her hair to wipe his cock off, sometimes she uses her tongue.

The last two days, Mare has served Danny a large breakfast. She no longer bothers to prepare food for me, just Danny, and she makes sure to make all his favorites - scrambled eggs with cheese, cinnamon toast, breakfast sausages, and the all-time Danny favorite, pancakes. I’ve been watching Danny eat, and he does so with an almost unnatural relish, as if he’s rediscovering the taste of food and enjoying it anew. I describe precisely that way for a reason - I think he  _is_  trying this stuff for the first time, in a way. His eye almost seem to sparkle. The thing inside him enjoys the act of consumption, I’m sure of it. 

Whatever you want to call it - the Little Brother, or Xandernath, the incubus, is experiencing the world through Danny. He’s more fidgety than normal, moving around more, sometimes in ways that look experimental. Half a dozen times a day I see him almost in a trance, turning an object over in his hands, examining it, feeling it, even though it’s something he’s seen or felt a thousand times. The pages of a book. The TV remote, running his hands over the buttons. Even just the texture of a wall, it’s like he’s drinking it in. You see? A kid would normally be bored as shit with that stuff, but what I think is, to the passenger  _inside_ , Danny’s uninvited guest, it’s all new. 

There’s something in there. It’s taken over Danny, and I’m 99% sure that if I were to wait for a silent moment, and surprise Danny by crying out ‘Xandernath!’, he would whirl around and I would see the look of comprehension on his face. But that would be tipping my hand. I can’t let IT know what I’m planning, because physically, I’m so weak. My muscles tremble when I move. I get exhausted and need to rest for a couple of minutes just from trudging from the bedroom the living room. That’s my part in this. Xandernath has possessed Danny, and he’s also hypnotized Mare, but it’s saved the worst for me -  it’s using me as a source of energy. My body feels numb and drained. Hell, the only time I feel anything now is when they-

Well, you know. 

It was even worse this morning. Instead of eating, Mare squatted by Danny’s chair like a dog, and he chewed some of his pancakes and then opened his mouth and let the chewed-up food slop onto her face. He did this repeatedly, and she seemed to love it just as much as she loved jerking him off onto her plate and eating his cum in her food. I sat there exhausted while my naked 10-year-old son filled my moaning wife’s mouth to the brim with chewed-up, lumpy food, right in front of me. Sometimes the spit-loaded, wet sludge would splatter onto her tits as well. Mare had an hungry, slutty look. Her sheer panties were wet in the crotch. “Danny, your spit tastes amazing!” she moaned, and then gave me this reproachful glance, as if by ‘feeding’ her in this obscene way, Danny was providing for her better than I ever had in ten years of marriage.

And, fuck. My cock was rock hard. 

That’s the hell of all this. The only time I feel any sexual pleasure is when they do this in front of me. It must be part of Xandernath’s curse. I’m no fucking cuck, I’m not into any fucked-up kinky shit or being humiliated. So it’s a cruel twist to be stuck in this situation. I don’t even know how small my penis is now. Half an inch? Less? I’m not overweight, though my muscles are doughy now, from disuse, and my skin looks pale. But even so, my penis almost completely disappears into the small amount of fat in my pubic area. And my balls… they’re barely there anymore. Smaller than grapes. He - it - is always flaunting itself, all but inviting the comparison.

He fucked Mare’s face in front of me this morning. 

Before even finishing his pancakes, Danny got on the table and put his hands in Mare’s hair. He was totally nude, so I could see every detail of his body.  _It’s_  vessel. It always shows Danny off to me whenever it can. Makes me see the difference between his glowing complexion and my deteriorating one. Between his supple young body and my flabby, weak adult one. I was across the table from Mare, and Danny dipped his hips and shoved his round ass out toward me and forced inch after inch of his fat cock down Mare’s throat. I could see his hairless, slightly-raised pink asshole and bulging cock root and his enormous, hanging balls. There was a glistening fleck of spit on rim from when Mare had been kissing and worshiping him earlier that morning. These days she loves to wake Danny up with a hot, deep rimjob while I lay beside them in bed.

He made her gag like a pig, ignoring me like I wasn’t even there. She seemed to love every second. I saw his girth make a visible bulge in her neck, like something out of a crazy porn film. She gagged and drooled all over his meat with each thrust. A foamy white mess gathered around her lips and mouth. At first her arms were limp but eventually they came up to grope Danny’s ass, to pull him harder into her as he did what he was doing. His fat ballsack slapped and bounced against her chin, smearing the mess of spit.

He pulled out long enough for her to hoarsely groan one phrase. “God, you’re so amazing, Danny!” Her eyes had a crazy look when she said it, like some sort of animal in heat. Then he was back inside her and… emptying himself. It’s hard to describe the sound. Like paint falling from a bucket on top of a ladder, and splashing on the floor. A sloppy, liquid sound. I could see his balls twitch as they propelled a massive load into Mare’s stomach. It  _made_  me see. It was draining me. Feeding her. And Mare took delirious joy in nourishing herself.

I had an orgasm. It was totally dry. Not even a drop came out. 

When it was over, Danny left the table to eat the rest of his breakfast in front of the TV, and it was just me and Mare. I was in my pajama pants and a white t-shirt, slumped in my chair, and she was wearing nothing but her panties. She looked beautiful, in spite of what had been done to her. Her hair was wild, her face was flushed. Yet her large breasts were covered in ropes and chunks of spit, cum, and pre-chewed food. I remember, I thought: _This woman used to be mine, and now my ten-year-old son defiles her every day with his huge penis. He empties himself into her and onto her, right in front of my face._

She must have noticed I was staring. “What’s the matter, John?” she asked. Even that question was unusual. She and Danny had given up the pretense of ‘normal family life’ more than a week ago. That included most conversation. Her eyes told me she knew exactly what she was doing and what was going on. She was probing me. Keeping an eye out for trouble. So I made sure to sound suitably miserable. Fuck, I  _was_  miserable.  

“This whole thing is… just wearing me out, Mare,” I said.

Amazingly, she reached out and put a hand on my wrist. If I was expecting a hint of the old Mare, though, it never came. Instead, she confirmed my suspicions. All but telling me what my fate would be.

“It’ll be over soon, John,” and I felt my heart skip a beat. Because the way she was looking at me made it clear she wasn’t talking about Partridge, or our money troubles, or our marital troubles. Not the trip back east or the rent. “A little longer, and you won’t have to worry anymore.” And as she said it, she reached down to the side of her mouth with a finger and gatheried a lumpy chunk of semen from there, sliding it into her mouth and swallowing. It was so thick, she chewed it briefly first. Then, she got up from the table with her hand rubbing her belly, just above the waistband of her panties. There was a slight bulge there from all the semen in her stomach, she was caressing it just as lovingly as an expectant mother. She  _wanted_  me to see how much sperm Danny had fed her. How big my son’s  _massive load_  was.

A week. Maybe two weeks. I have to make my move before I’m too far gone to matter.

I’m running out of time.

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
May 5th, 2018**

I’m almost prepared.

Looking at Simon’s list of so-called exorcism rites and anti-demon wards makes me feel like a fucking crackpot. Or the protagonist in a video game, gathering materials. If I wasn’t in this situation I’d be the first one to laugh. 

The prayer is like nothing I’ve seen. Apparently Simons got it from one of the bastard preaching tracts from that area of New England during Prohibition.  _Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning. Depart, profligate dragon, in the name of the Lord God of Sabaoth, who has trodden on the basilisk and the scorpion and the asp._ And it goes on like that, mixing stuff that vaguely sounds like the bible with Creole  _bruja, bene gris-gris_  and shit that’s probably even older. Shit you’d hear druids chanting around a stone while they prepared to cut out someone’s entrails.

The ingredients for the ward are just as strange. There’s my blood, of course. A popular ingredient for rites the world over. My sweat. No problem there. They way my stamina has wasted away, I get a sweat on my brow just from walking across the room a couple of times. This afternoon I got one of the more difficult ingredients, which was moss from a consecrated grave. I told Mare I was going for a walk to clear my head. This is unusual for me these days, since walking takes so much energy, but she was too busy tending to Danny to care.

“Alright, John,” she said. She did not even look up from licking his feet as he reclined, watching Netflix, seeming especially interested in scenes of violence or the occult. More evidence of Xandernath. His penis hung over the edge of the couch like a club, and she lifted it and kissed the tip tenderly as I threw on jacket and a ball cap and departed.

I took the bus to the local cemetery, but I stopped at the florist first to pick up some white roses. Not only were they one of the items on Simons’ list, but would provide a nice excuse for why I was skulking around the cemetery. With our finances in disarray, the $12 for the bouquet was dear, but I guess you can’t put a price on the health of your soul. 

The cemetery was almost deserted. Nobody there but a caretaker and one old man in a brown suit that looked like it was from the 1960’s. He saw me as I was walking the rows, passing the graves. Most of them were simple markers, but the older plots, near the back of the cemetery, had more elaborate headstones. I was examining one - a big crucifix stone tilted slightly off center by the movement of the earth - when he spoke up.

“You got it too,” he said. He was at least an octogenarian, and I bet his joints gave him some hell even getting into that suit. He walked with a cane and his face was liver-spotted. A few strands of wispy white hair trailed out from under the brim of his hat. 

At first I thought he was just talking to the gravestone in front of him; an old guy, praying aloud to a departed friend. At that age they all start dropping like flies. But then I saw he was looking right at me. I must have made a pathetic sight, standing there trembling in a jacket and jeans that barely fit because I’ve lost a good 20 pounds, trying to catch my breath because the walk to the back of the graveyard had been uphill.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked him, and he nodded.

“Cancer,” he said. “It took my friend George in March. We were in the service together.”

Then I thought,  _of course_.  _Of course_  he thinks I have cancer. I look like I have it, I move like I have it. My skin is pale from being indoors, slumped on the couch or napping in a chair, I probably look like a ghoul who shambled from his hospital bed for one last look at the sun.

“Something like that,” I told him, and then I noticed a place where lichens had grown on the damp underside of the crucifix headstone, and reached a shaky arm out while the other went into my pocket for the petri dish I’d brought. It was Danny’s. Part of a home chemistry set he lost interest in, a few years back. Kid never could keep that flighty mind of his focused on one thing. Just like his mother. Feeling my anger at them flare, I controlled it as best I could, and scraped some of the damp moss and re-pocketed the dish. 

“Are you at peace with yourself?” he asked. “Got things right between you and God?” I almost laughed. I told him I had some important things to do yet, and then turned and slowly made my way back to the bus stop. It was five blocks, and during that trek I almost fainted twice. When I got back home I felt like I was going to keel over, but I had what I came for. Some white rose petals and a clump of gravemoss. According to Simons, I can apply these to a talisman, an object of meaning, and it will become a ward against evil. 

But there’s a problem. 

There’s one more ingredient I need. Semen. My own. My dick has shrunk so much, I’m not sure I can even produce any. The last time even a couple drops came out was over a week ago. Since then, it’s been dry orgasms. I tried jerking off just before sitting down to write this, and at first I couldn’t even get hard. Eventually I had to resort to using a fantasy. It killed my pride to do it, but I thought about Danny and Mare, together. Doing… you know. That’s the only thing my body seems to respond to anymore. I imagined them together, and after a few minutes, I felt a twinge. My penis was still capable of getting hard. But…

...that was it. No matter what I imagined, I couldn’t cum. The only time I can get worked up enough to cum is when- 

Yeah.

So you can see the situation I’m in. I just need one drop of semen. The talisman I chose is a letter from my old high school jacket. Something back when I was free and clear and healthy, and not saddled with an ungrateful kid and an ungrateful wife. Something pure. I applied the blood, the moss, the petals, the sweat. I’ve memorized the rite that creates the seal. Just one drop!

To get it, I’ll have to

I don’t even want to write it

 

UPDATE May 6th, 2:00 AM:

forgot we kept vodka chilled in the freezer  
had a quick belt  
when you’re weak as I am it hits you quick

you want to know what I’m going to do when this is over  
can I forgive them

no  
no i can’t.

they blamed me  
and that’s how they let him in  
they all but invited him

 

* * *

 

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
May 8th, 2018**

That little bastard, that fucking bitch.

I got it. It killed me to do it, but I got it. 

Having to watch them. Having to hear Mare go on and on with that enslaved look on her face. Goddamnit! Feeling my body respond to it, it makes me sick! They both make me sick. All that for one drop of semen. 

When I asked if I could watch them, this look came over her. Like  _oh, so you’ve finally given up and swallowed your pride, John_. God, I wanted to smack her right in her smug face. It’s bad enough that she dresses like a fucking whore for him now. Makes up her face like a slut, does her hair long and fancy like she did when we were dating. She looks better than she has in  _years_ , but with me she couldn’t be bothered. Wearing her housecoat half the day. Frumpy sweaters and pantsuits. Fuck.

I had no choice!

She sat me down across from him. Made me undress and just sit opposite Danny in a chair from the kitchen. He was on the recliner, this big old leather thing, like a throne. The undressing was bad, considering what’s going on between my legs, but I felt worse than naked. That close, facing him - there was no hiding the difference between us. 

Mare was stripped down to her panties, too. Her breasts were perfect - large, round, full - and as she slid onto her hip on the arm of the recliner, she hugged Danny to her side, pressing his head against her hanging tits. The little bastard didn’t hesitate to start groping and sucking her, right in front of me. And her body responded.

“I let your son suck my tits any time he wants, you know that?” she taunted, licking her bottom lip as she ran her hands through Danny’s hair and pressed his mouth harder into her large, raised nipple. “I’ll never let you touch me again, John, but Danny can do whatever he wants. He’s the man of the house.”

“Yes,” I said. There was nothing else to say. I couldn’t let on what I was planning. I tried to think of it as a price I needed to pay. I slumped in the chair, my skin on my upper thighs and chest fishbelly white. My cock was a tiny little nub in my pubic hair, barely visible. Meanwhile, my son’s dick was piled on the recliner seat like a sleeping python, coiled between his thin thighs.

She measured us. I’ve said before that her behavior with Danny seems like a ritual sometimes, the way she cleans him, anoints him, exalts him. It really is like demon worship. This was like that. In our knick-knack drawer in the kitchen there’s an old roll-up tape measure, and she took it and unrolled it down Danny’s fat dick and made me read the result.

“F-fifteen inches,” I read. My mouth felt dry. His cock absolutely dwarfed the tape measure. Mare even wrapped it around his girth a couple of times, making the half-hard length bulge. 

“God, it’s bigger than my arm!” she moaned, and planted a kiss right on Danny’s pisshole, sliding her tongue inside. When she drew back, a wet bridge of semen connected her lips to his crown, then snapped.

Then she measured me. Made me… present myself, and held the measure up against me. It was the first time she touched me down there in I don’t know how long. “Oh my god,” she said. “It’s not even half an inch!” The inflection in her voice made it sound like she was observing something disgusting, like a beetle she’d just turned up from under a wet rock. Then I heard her stomach grumble.

Mare turned her head to the side and vomited. Her mostly-naked body hitched as a thick rail of lumpy gruel poured from her mouth and splattered to the ground. “God you’re such a fucking fag!” she croaked, with long strands of whitish mess dangling from her lips. She pressed her hair back from her head so it wouldn’t be hit. “Your tiny worm dick makes me  _fucking sick_ , hnnn-GLLLLCH!”

I just sat there as she degraded me. Tiny or not, my cock was rock-hard. I almost came right then. Watching her breasts jiggle and hang while she doubled over, falling to her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Seeing the difference between Danny’s size and mine had made her physically ill. And the whole time, Danny was staring at me. Cold and impassive. At that range I could tell his eyes were darker.

“You’re so pathetic John,” Mare said, crawling back to lean against Danny’s chair.

“Yes,” I said.

“You just made me puke at what a tiny-dicked fag you are compared to your own son.”

“I’m sorry.” I played my part, placating her. But in the palm of my hand I had the folded-up letter from my high-school jacket, clutched tight. One drop of my semen. One drop was all I needed.

“I want you to say it out loud,” Mare ordered. “Say ‘I have a half-inch cock. My ten-year-old son has a fifteen inch god dick. My wife sucks it every night.”

I did what she asked. Danny watched me the entire time, expressionless. Really not like a little boy at all, it was obvious now. Like a demon on his throne. His spindly young limbs extending from a small torso, his enormous penis hardening and jutting up like a spike.

Mare leaned over the arm of the chair and started kissing and sucking Danny’s balls, pursing her lips against them, licking them, slathering them in her spit. They were far too large to even get one into her mouth. “God, can you imagine if you both fucked me, what a joke it would be?” she moaned, sniffing his sack. “Danny’s big, fat sperms would fucking annihilate yours. He shoots such massive loads, John. You’d have no chance to ever get me pregnant. So, you tell me what you want to see. Do you want to see me suck his balls and lick his ass? Right in front of you? Danny has such a cute little ass, John. That’s right. Every night while you’re laying in bed, I bury my face between your son’s cheeks and make out with his perfect asshole. I’d rather do that than kiss you, John.”

I told her no, I had something else in mind. Something I knew would have the effect I needed. As she listened, a smile came to her face. 

“So, you really have accepted it,” Mare said. “That’s good, John. Things will be so good around here, with everyone in their proper place. We’ll be a family again.” She believed it, too. But her version of us being a family meant a slow and pathetic end for yours truly. I no longer doubted that. It only reinforced the importance of what I had to do.

But I still almost rebelled, because she wanted me to ask Danny. Beg him, actually. That bitch. I’d been able to shut off the prideful part of my brain, and tell myself this was all a nasty means to an end. But the idea of begging my hung, grade-school aged son to fuck my wife… 

It was too much.

Almost.

In the end, I did it. Mare could see I was struggling with it, and the struggle wasn’t an act. I got on my knees in front of that reclined with my tiny dick barely visible and I asked him.

“Danny, please fuck your mother in front of me.”

Mare laughed. Good, she said, but not good enough. She gave me the words to use for my second try. Danny was almost grinning as he watched me. I swear, I could see  _it_ \- Xandernath - floating right behind his eyes. This time I bowed. I was so close to cumming, and I knew if I could just do that, and bring the talisman clutched in my hand down to absorb even the scant bit of fluid I might produce, the job would be done.

Danny looked so regal. His body was… perfect. Youthful and smooth and dappled with a sheen of clean sweat. His hair was wild, brushing the back of his neck, his chest narrow, his thighs almost edible in their precocious, featureless, golden perfection. And between them, that massive prong of flesh, towering upward above his fat, churning balls. An avatar of boyhood and sexuality. Next to him, Mare was his concubine, thick and matronly and glowing with arousal and fulfillment. I was the old and broken down one, cringing, pale, deteriorating. I’ll admit now, and I can always delete this paragraph later anyway, in that moment I almost believed it. Believed how superior he was.

I took a moment to collect myself and then said what Mare instructed. I remember the exact words her enthralled mind designed, calculated to exalt Danny and humiliate me. They’re hard to forget.

“Please Danny, rape my wife in front of me and make her cum. Destroy her pussy with your god cock while I jerk my worthless dicklette. I want to be cucked by my own pre-teen son!”

Danny said one word in his haunting, dual-channel voice. Part boy, part demon. It was the only thing he said the entire time.

“Very well.”

That’s it. ‘Very well.’ I don’t think Danny - the real Danny - ever used that phrase in his life. And then...

Well, what else is there to say?

It happened. It happened, right in front of my face. Mare removed her panties, got up on the chair and turned her back to me, so I could see her thick ass squatting down on Danny’s cock. Her body was so large compared to his, so full and voluptuous, but below Danny’s waist it was a different story. His cock was so massive, it looked like it would tear her apart. I mean, it was thicker than her arm, and way too long for her to completely take inside… or so I thought.

She dropped her body and Danny’s baseball-sized cockhead pressed against her pussy. I could see it straining to get inside, pressing her thick outer labia aside in each direction, spreading her. In my mind I could imagine a tearing sound as her pussy gave out. But it didn’t happen. She lowered her hips and her big ass bounced as he began to slide inside. She howled like a banshee. I’m sure the neighbors heard it. “Oh my god it’s so fucking  _big_!” she moaned. Mare sounded like an animal in heat, not a woman at all. She showed no hesitation.

Every guy likes to feel like he owns his girlfriend or wife’s pussy. That’s what I think. Let the feminists cry all they want, but that’s something about relationships that will always be true. But as Mare dropped further down and took inch after inch of that fat cock, I felt, and saw, what it’s like to have something you ‘own’ conquered. 

My ten-year-old son absolutely wrecked my wife’s cunt. 

I could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of her vaginal walls  _mopping_  his fat, veiny dick. Even at half insertion I knew she was being changed, reshaped, having her pussy repurposed. It would never be the tight, welcoming sleeve I remembered from our wedding night. The soapy, sloshing sounds and the bulging cock-shape in her abdomen as her guts were stirred up, they told me that Mare’s pussy was now nothing more than a sleeve for monster cock.

“Look at it tearing me up, you fag!” she moaned, bouncing up and down, her buttocks clapping as I saw her pussy gripping his cock, sliding up and down it, leaving a froth of lube on the long, smooth shaft. “Your son’s donkey dick is fucking me up! It’s stuffed deep than you could ever reach!”

She turned around then, stepping off, re-straddling, re-inserting, and I could see the post-like bulge the brutal length made in her gut as she impaled herself. Maybe three or four inches of Danny’s pipe was outside of her pussy now. “Danny fucking owns my cunt now,” she cried at me, bouncing up and down. “Gawd, my fucking womb is stretched around him! Auuuugh! He’s making me cum so fucking hard!

Her eyes rolled back and she almost collapsed on him, sinking down to take his length all the way to the balls. I swear I heard a sinewy, meaty stretching down from within her body, and a bulge in the shape of Danny’s turgid fuckmeat appeared in her upper abdomen as her pussy exploded in a hot eruption of squirt all over the floor… and all over me.

I was almost there. 

I was jerking off, I could feel it building, and I knew, I just knew, that the orgasm would be big enough to produce the semen I needed. Danny was thrusting into her from underneath, making soupy, sloppy noises in her stretched pussy, as Mare slumped over him in near catatonia. I could see his heavy balls sliding with each hip thrust. 

“That’s it, jerk off while your son uses me as a cum sewer,” Mare moaned, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “Jerk your tiny dick off, fag. How does it feel to know that Danny owns my fucking pussy? His huge, thick load will erase any memory that you were ever inside me, fag!”

I don’t know how long he raped her in front of me. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Twenty. She talked to me the whole time. Told me that Danny’s pre-cum was thicker than my own pathetic load. She fucked him cowgirl, reverse cowgirl. They got on the floor in front of me and went doggystyle. Then he started fucking her in missionary while she threw her legs behind her head, just inches away from my face. I could see every detail of his balls and asshole as he hilted himself in her and made her squeal.

When Danny started to cum, I thought I would, too. I watched his balls twitch, I could hear the big, sloppy bursts of nut spraying into Mare’s womb as she moaned about how he was  _knocking her up_ , how I was a  _fag_  and my wife was being  _bred right in front of my face_  by a  _grade-schooler’s donkey dick_ , how my own son was  _choking her oviducts with cum_  so thick it was  _almost solid_  and she was going to have his big-dicked baby for sure.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I watched him explode into her, saw the big cum-vein of his dick actually swell as he inflated her womb with fat, chunky cum ropes that sloped back out over her asshole and formed piles on the floor. But I was still jerking… and when it seemed it might be over, when their breathing was settling and Danny was pulling out, drawing his long, sticky, cum-soaked cock out of Mare’s gaping cunt… I still couldn’t make it. Not even seeing the aftermath of her gaping, cum-sloppy twat. Her pussy and cervix were so brutally fucked-out I could even see inside her womb, where her egg-tubes were leaking fountains of semen like busted pipes.

I needed something more. That was when Mare brought out our wedding picture. 

It was us, in happier days, me in my tux, her in her white dress. Us before all of this madness brought the whole thing down. The only reason it was close at hand was because it was laying on top of a box - I’d been packing some things since we were going to have to move soon. She threw it on the floor and the glass cracked.  Then, as Danny watched, she squatted over it like a stripper. 

“This is what I think of our marriage, John,” she moaned. She gritted her teeth and there was a lewd queefing noise as huge creampie slopped out of her cunt, instantly covering the photo. Her face was such a picture of relief, it was disgusting. It was like it was unburdening both her body and soul to drop her own son’s big, nasty cum-load on a representation of our bond. 

She must have thought she utterly defeated me, when I cried out and fell forward, jerking my half-inch cock, orgasming. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life, that much is true. It was the best, hardest orgasm I’ve ever had. Just seeing what an  _animal_  she was. What a disgusting pig Mare had become, for  _him_. Thinking about him taking possession of her, compelling her to be a filthy whore just because his cock was so much bigger than mine - that’s what pushed me over the edge. My wife was a nasty pedophile  _kid-fucker_. She’d rather a slave to her cute young son’s  _big dick_  than have anything to do with me.

Humiliating. But, I got it.

_I fucking got it._

When I brought my fist forward and came into it, they didn’t even notice. A few drops was all I produced. Nothing compared to the load sliding from Mare’s pussy and onto our shattered wedding pic. But it’s enough.

Now, he can’t touch me. That was eight hours ago. I stuffed the letter into my sock so it’s always against my skin, and I can already feel my strength returning. 

Soon. I’ll never forgive them for what they made me go through. Demon or no demon. Impossible to take revenge when I was so weak, before. But now, like I said, he can’t touch me. It’s just Mare and a kid, against an adult man. 

I have to act before Xandernath realizes something is wrong. I have the rite prepared.

Tomorrow. Yes. If I feel strong enough, I’ll do it tomorrow night.

One way or another, this is all going to end.


	4. July 11th (Final Entry)

**From the private blog of user “snak3bit”  
July 11th, 2018**

I never expected to take up this blog again. Looking back over it now, it seems like something that happened in a dream. Even if I were to make it public, nobody would believe the story. It’d just seem like a crazy, dirty joke; some sort of fucked-up performance art, like those guys who hammer nails into their noses at the freakshow.

But the way things worked out, I do get to finish it. It’s all over. Xandernath is gone. 

It will be a relief to tell what happened that day.

May 9th was the day I put my plan into action. I remember saying, “Danny, can you come into the kitchen? I want to talk to you,” and how it felt unnatural coming out of my mouth. By that point, I hadn’t addressed him father-to-son in weeks. He was sitting on the couch, playing video games, shirtless. One leg dangling languidly off the edge, the other tucked up Indian-style. I could see the bulge of his big, flaccid cock in his boxer-briefs, pressing against the sole of his foot. It seemed no matter his pose, that meat was ever-present, a constant reminder of his size, relative to mine. His eyes turned toward me and I could see the darkness. Xandernath was behind his eyes.

At first I thought he would just ignore me. He’d long passed the point of showing me any respect. But eventually he paused his game, rose from the couch, and pattered over in his bare feet. The ease and confidence of his movement made me grit my teeth. He was like a king, indulging one of his servants. By contrast, I was hunched over at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed, looking miserable. My body was still a wreck; the strength I’d recovered wasn’t enough to make up for a month of muscle atrophy. Yet I was an adult, and Danny was just an 10-year-old boy.

Mare was in the bedroom, recovering from what he had done to her that morning. It was just the two of us. He pulled out a chair, making a sharp sound on the linoleum floor, and sat down. His feet didn’t even touch the ground, that’s how small he was, and yet between the two of us he felt  _gigantic_. Filled with power. For a moment I was so scared I almost called the whole thing off.

“What do you want, dad?” Danny asked. His voice had that weird stereo effect, he either could no longer hide it, or didn’t care to. In the bright light of the kitchen I could see every detail of his face. The thin, graceful nose, the subtle freckles on each cheek - freckles that usually were only visible when his skin would tan and peel in the summer. I knew what he was seeing in my face. Bags under the eyes and gauntness in my cheeks. Not quite as bad as those photos of Jews in concentration camps during the Holocaust, but close. 

In that moment my hatred for him was pure. That’s one of the shittiest things about this - the way the demon has made me hate my own son and wife. For their weakness in letting him into their hearts and into our home. He was so flawless. The way his tangle of sandy blonde hair pouring down each side of his head, stopping just below his ears, the bangs nearly covering one of those dark eyes - it was enough to drive me mad. My own hair was ragged. Receding. That’s when I knew I was brave enough to do what I had to do. It wasn’t self-interest that drove me to it, not completely. A lot of it was hate for something younger and more beautiful. I wanted so badly to go back to when I was his age and my whole life was in front of me, without this shitty marriage, Mare sabotaging me with this ungrateful kid, and he was the avatar of that longing. The image of what I used to be back before things went to hell.

“I want to talk to the other one,” I said, and kept my face calm. I had moved the ritual talisman, that small, soft letter from my high school jacket, from my shoe to my right hip pocket. If there looked to be trouble, I could grab it in an instant. Danny’s eyes seemed to darken when I said this, and I knew the demon was in there, watching me, like the captain of a spaceship watching the outside world through a viewscreen. When he next spoke, the stereo effect in his voice was much stronger than before. It was through hiding.

“The other one,” Danny said. “What do you know of him?” Again, not talking like a boy. Talking in a way that seemed old-fashioned, like from a movie set in England in the time of King Arthur, or whatever. It was strange and off-putting to hear a young boy talk that way.

“I want to talk to him about what’s going on,” I continued. “And… ending it.” I gulped. “I don’t want to drag things out any further.” At that point there was a sick grin on my face. I must have looked like a desperate man going to the electric chair. “I thought… maybe we could make a deal.”

Demons love bargaining with mortals. This is something I had learned from the confusing reading list recommended by Cal Simons. Half of the texts were written in such an arcane, fucked-up way I couldn’t make heads nor tails of them, but one message was repeated often in between the recipes for summoning and capturing - the idea that a soul freely given is worth a thousand times that which is coerced.

Danny’s pert mouth turned up at one corner in a smile, showing an incisor, and his dark eyed filled with something unmistakable. Greed. I had his interest. “Then you admit I am the greater power,” said the demon-thing in side my boy. Danny’s mouth moved, but he was not the one talking, I could tell that much.

“Yes,” I said.

“And what do you offer?”

“My life. My soul. This body, for as long as it holds out.” The words felt heavy coming out of my mouth. 

“And what do you ask?”

“Spare the boy. And my wife.” It was something to say. Something to distract the demon from my true intentions. I wanted the bastard out of Danny and Mare, one way or the other. Then I would deal with my family on my own terms. 

The creature in front of me threw back his head and laughed. “I do not need your body. You are already depleted. The boy makes ten of you.” Danny’s own sweet, child-like voice had all but disappeared, leaving the dark hum of a hidden presence. “You are an arrogant and foolish man. The boy is resourceful, intelligent. Willful. He has been ill-used by you, your boorishness and aggression. In the dark of night he cried out against you, and I answered. I gave him power against you.”

“And how does Mare factor into it?”

“She was my price. The boy wished upon a star, he would give anything. He did not expect I would ask for his mother, to feel her flesh through his body. Yet the bargain was made.” Xandernath, through Danny, showed his teeth again. His eyes flickered like pools of oil reflecting a burning matchhead.

“You tricked him,” I said. My hand twitched near my pocket. I knew, again from Cal Simons’ books, that more the demon showed itself, the closer it was to the ‘surface’ of Danny, the more effective the ritual would be.

“No,” replied the demon. “He is a strong-willed boy, and could have cast me out, at least in the beginning, before I took deep root. But he likes his mother’s touch. The things I feel, rioting in her flesh, he feels as well. He enjoys.” Xandernath uttered a deep laugh. “He would make a good demon himself! Which is more than I can say for you, you weak and silly man. You are nothing but a thrall. Your body is broken. You have nothing to offer but your soul, that immaculate part of every human that even a wretch like you cannot sully. I have seen every kind of human weakness and ugliness. The prostitutes of the bayou trafficked with men steeped in sin. And you, ‘John’ are no different than the pimps and flesh-peddlers who raised their fists against those unsheltered women.”

“If my soul is all I have, then I offer it,” I replied. “For the boy and his mother.” Of course, it was revenge I wanted. Once Xandernath was destroyed, I could deal with Danny and Mare as I wished.

My offer caused something to surge behind Danny’s eyes. His wild blonde hair seemed to levitate at the ends and a deep breath rose in his narrow chest. At that moment, I heard Mare stir in the bedroom, uttering a low, tired inquiry, barely recovered from her latest fuck session with Danny, in which she no doubt took his huge young cock in every hole. I had heard the wet slapping sounds. I knew that I had to act. If Mare walked out to the kitchen and saw us, she might interfere. Xandernath, in Danny’s body, naked except for those boxer briefs slung low on his slender hips, was leaning toward me, hungrily.

My hand slid into my pocket and clutched at the soft, fuzzy shape of my jacket letter. I closed my first around it, and the second I did, Danny’s eyes opened in surprise. He -  _it_ \- realized it had been tricked. That I had kept something from it. Perhaps the demon had underestimated me. The talisman had protected me from losing any more energy, and Xandernath either had not noticed or had assumed I was nearly empty. Either way, when I closed my fist, a great and thrumming power surged up my arm. I started chanting the words that I had memorized in the previous night.

_“Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus!”_

_Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered: and let them that hate Him flee from before His face._  My pronunciation was shitty, but the words still had their effect. Danny uttered an inhuman cry and recoiled, his body seeming to bend like a blade of grass in the wind. I raised the talisman in my fist and thrust it toward him, and he pushed the chair away from the table with a screeching sound. It tumbled over behind him. His mouth seemed to stretch open like a bat or a hyena, baring teeth. He made an animalistic snarling sound; not really a boy at all, a demon wearing a boy’s face. He backed up until he was pressed against the kitchen counter, and I rose from my seat.

“Écce Crúcem Dómini, fúgite pártes advérsae!” I said. “Open the rocks I dash the usurper scorpion! Papa Legba, close your everlasting doors! Ogun! Changó! Obatalá! Yemayá, Yemoja, Iemanja! I offer you the sacrifice of white and black hen! This world be shut! This eye be closed!” I must have looked mad, a thin, crazy man brandishing his fist and reciting that half-Latin, half-voodoo prayer, but I felt true energy moving in my body for the first time in months. Danny was shrinking against the wall. His head was tilted back and his face twisted into an awful expression of agony. I realized I could see it leaving him. Xandernath. The demon presence was a sparkling black cloud, barely perceptible, rising out of Danny’s eye sockets. It was working.

“Leave the boy!” I cried, and my ears seemed to be filled with a great tea-kettle shrieking, a noise liable to drive anyone mad. From the bedroom I could hear Mare calling out, asking about the yelling, asking what was going on. I would deal with her, but first I had to drive the demon out. Then there would be time for her, and Danny. Oh yes. I would make  _special_  time for them.

“Curse you!” came a snarling voice from inside him. “You are no shaman!” But that denial meant nothing to me. I continued reciting the prayer, walking ever-closer to Danny. His small body was trembling and twisting, like a kid having a seizure. He looked so helpless, so far from the confident, strutting presence that he’d been for the last weeks. I admit, I liked that. Seeing him powerless. I was already plotting my revenge, you see. The rite was working. Xandernath would be banished, and what then? It would be just me and Mare and Danny. Considering what they had done to me, the lack of respect, the humiliation… no man should have to suffer what I suffered. I decided then and there that I would have my vengeance for every indignity they put me through. It had been hard contemplate revenge while I was barely strong enough to stand. But when a man has power, it’s natural to think about how to use it. 

Xandernath’s spirit flew from Danny’s eyes and his irises faded to their previous hazel color. He looked dazed, barely aware of his surroundings. The demon was freely floating now, like a black cloud of vapor, gathering in the corner of the kitchen. It looked like an optical illusion, a movie special effect. With no one to invite it in, it was helpless against me, and against the white magic I had in my hand. The  _bene gris-gris_. “You’re safe now!” I yelled to Danny. “I’ve driven it out!” It was true. But what I really mean to say was Danny was  _mine_ now.  _My_  son. He didn’t belong to Xandernath, but to me. And when all was said and done I was going to teach him how to respect his father.

I could see the realization of what it meant, in his face. Kids are smart. They know when they’re in trouble. I remember when I was a kid, my mom caught me looking at girly magazines in the bathroom. I stashed a Playboy in the lid of the toilet tank. Nothing matches that fear. The fear and shame of a boy who knows that punishment is coming. I was glad to see it, you understand? That fear, that respect, had been absent for too long.

In my mind I already knew what I was going to do. There would be a beating for Mare. More than one. I’m not a violent man, but she needed to be put in her place, for what she did to me. A beating, and then two choices - divorce where I get every dime and custody, or get pregnant again and raise the kid right. How *I* want. A kid who respects his father. Who isn’t encouraged to whine and complain like Danny. A rugged kid. No long haircuts. I wouldn’t tell her that she and I could patch things up, because that’s not true. The bond between us was broken. Maybe it was before this whole mess started. 

For Danny… well, he needed to learn to respect his father. Looking down at him, with that mop of blonde hair and his smooth body, thin and small, with slightest bit of girlish puffiness in his nipples, made me sick. And that cock. That tool between his legs that had made me feel so inferior and humiliated. Even with Xandernath gone, hovering in a crowd of black smoke, it was still huge, bent over on itself in his underwear.

There was only one way to pay him back for what had happened, the humiliation and disrespect. The most straightforward way to reestablish the pecking order between man and boy. Between the one who makes the rules, and the one who follows them. It wouldn’t even be about sex. It would be about power. And even if I physically didn’t return to normal at the exorcism’s completion, I had other ways to do it to him. There were other things around the house - large, cylindrical objects that he would feel deeply. I would make Mare watch. I’ll spare you any further details.

All of these thoughts went through my mind in a split second. I’m not proud of them. But the demon in them had brought out the demon in me. They had hurt me. Humiliated me. And I would hurt them if I could.

I was looming over Danny, holding the talisman out toward the disembodied smoke, watching it fizzle and dissipate and retreat. I had only to close the rite. Mare walked into the kitchen, wearing only silk panties, her breasts bare and hanging heavily down her front. Her eyes went wide with alarm. I saw in that moment how huge her tits looked, hanging down nearly to her waist.

“What are you doing to him, you bastard!” she cried, in a banshee keen. Her hands reached out to me, and her eyes were filled with an irrational protectiveness, for Danny and the demon that had made her a fuck slave. I backhanded her in the face, knocking her over. A good deal of my strength was returning. I could feel my out-of-practice muscles creaking and my vitality rushing back.

“Mom!” Danny cried, and there were tears in his eyes. 

“This is for your own good!” I growled. I stepped toward the demon presence for what I assumed would be the final time. It cringed away from the talisman, but had nowhere to go. Though it looked like vapor, it seemed unable to move much, robbed of its earthbound hosts. I intended to destroy it. 

Then, there was a blur of motion from my left. Danny. He stepped toward me and snatched the talisman from my hand, lickety split. He was fast, and forceful. He tore it from me, grabbing the part that was protruding from my first and plucking it up and out of my grasp like he was pulling a weed. The feeling of power left me immediately.

“Danny!” I cried. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it. I felt sweat pour down over one of my eyes. My heart was thumping a mile a minute. Danny was clutching the talisman to his narrow chest, looking at me fearfully.

“Give it back,” I ordered. My voice was hoarse from all the yelling. “Give it back, Danny. I swear to god, you have to give it back right now. That thing has to be destroyed.”

There was a click as Danny turned on the burner of the gas stove. It made a WHOOMPH! Sound as the blue flames appeared and started licking upward. I took a step toward him, and he held out the talisman, suspending it just inches above the stove burner.

“You hit us,” he said, simply. There were tears in his eyes, those deep hazel eyes. They pooled and ran down his cheeks in twin streams.

“Danny, listen to me. You’ve been seduced. Fooled by this thing,” I gulped again. My mouth was dry. I inched toward him. If I got close enough, I could do what needed to be done, take it by force. He was just a boy after all. “I’m your father, Danny.”

“You  _hi_ t us,” he repeated. “We trusted you more than anyone and you hit us, and you messed up our lives because you’re such a selfish asshole,” he accused, his voice rising. For the first time I realized how wounded he was. Because of what I had done.

“Danny, you  _obey_  me,” I growled. “You mind me now, boy. I’m your father, goddamnit.”

Danny sniffled, and looked at his mother cringing against the baseboard, holding her wounded cheekbone, and back to me. Then he said something he had never said to me in ten years.

“ _Fuck you_ , dad.” He opened his hand, and the fuzzy letter dropped onto the stove burner. It went up like a torch, instantly. I cried out. Howled. As it burned I could feel my soul burning, or so it seemed. I tried to pick it up, burning my hands as the flames licked over them, but it was no good. The thing was a cinder.

The feeling of power was gone. The feeling of protection was gone. My eyes slowly turned to the corner of the kitchen, and I saw it coming for me. The black vapor. Heading right for my eyes, two prongs already extended like a plug meeting a socket.

I screamed.

 

* * *

 

My 10-year-old son, Danny, runs my household now. 

I realize that I was wrong for the things I did to him, and I thank him for allowing me to finish this account of events so I can post it publically and embarrass myself like the stupid fag I am. The names and locations have been changed to avoid inconvenience for him, but everything I have written is absolutely true, even if I made the terrible mistake of resisting his superiority for most of it.

He is perfect in every way and it’s my honor to have him stretch my wife’s pussy every night with his long, smooth, hairless 15 inch penis. I love that a woman I married is considered worthy to be fucked by his godhood! Watching Mare defile herself on his rape blade every night makes me so proud. The way it stretches her guts out into a cock shape always makes my pathetic half-inch dick have a dry orgasm.

Danny owns my body and my mind. Xandernath was right when he said that Danny was a smart and resourceful boy. When I purged the demon, the contract between it and Danny was broken. It took refuge in his body again… but on Danny’s terms. Now, he holds sway over it, and not the other way around. As for me, well… I bargained my mind, body and soul. It belongs to Xandernath, and Xandernath belongs to my son. Danny punishes me every day for the way I mistreated him and Mare, and I richly deserve his punishment.

He controls my energy level with expert precision, and permits me just enough to breathe and move my extremities. I spend most of my day laying down or surfing the internet - even clicking a mouse is an effort. Typing too. At night, I lay in the middle of the bed and they fuck right on top of me. My beautiful blonde wife begs for Danny’s huge loads while crushing me into the mattress with her weight, calling me a bitch and a fag with a tiny worm dick. I cannot even move my arms and legs and can only lay there with her hair covering my face and her back flat against my chest, while Danny slides his small, young body between her thick thighs and scrambles her womb with his monster cock.

I can feel it when he cums into her. Her whole body churns with the spurts from his big, heavy fuckmeat.

Afterward, Mare always squats over me and queefs Danny’s huge, thick creampie all over my face, all while calling me a bitch and a faggot cuck, asking me how it feels to be cucked by my own son. Sliding my tongue around her cum-loaded slit is the only sexual contact I am allowed with her, and my worthless worm-dick always has a dry orgasm from this treatment. After that, if they have to relieve themselves, they move me to the edge of the bed and piss on my face and body. Danny’s stream of stud god-piss is so strong, my faggot dicklette can dry-cum just from it blasting against my half-inch stub. I am so proud to have him as a son and I love sleeping in his and Mare’s smelly piss while they cuddle on the dry side of the bed and talk about what a fucking fag I am. In the mornings, he permits me enough energy to change the sheets and launder their cum-soaked underwear. Sometimes I am forced to wear them on my head.

I am only allowed to eat the leftovers of food from Mare and Danny’s breakfasts, but only if Danny has jerked off on it. If Danny bathes that morning, I anoint and wash his fat cock while Mare looks on to make sure I do a good job. While doing so I tell him how amazing he is an how I’m nothing but a worthless cuck fag by comparison. Using soap and a rag, I make sure to get his dick nice and clean so it will give Mare a good fucking that night. Sometimes, she blows him right in front of me in the bathroom, and I have to start washing again from scratch. Mare makes sure to tell me how poorly I compare to him while he’s standing there naked, with his big cock hanging down. She loves to talk about how his ass is so smooth and tight and cute, his skin so flawless, his eyes deep and dark and lovely, his eyelashes long, his feet shapely. She tells me I look like shit by comparison, a used-up thirty-something piece of trash, and I always enthusiastically agree with her.

We then do a ritual measuring each day. Danny says this is to remind me of my place. Mare holds a measuring tape up to Danny’s cock and reads out the length, and then compares it to my own tiny half-inch cock and pathetic little ballsack. Sometimes Mare vomits after comparing us side by side. She says I’m such a disgusting, limp dick faggot compared to Danny that it makes her physically ill to remember that she ever fucked me. If I have to piss, they watch me as I do it sitting down, and laugh at the pathetic trickle from my bladder. Sometimes, Danny shows his superiority by taking a long piss into the bowl while I’m seated on the toilet, making me see how much more powerful his finger-thick, yellow stream is compared to my dribbling clear one. Mare says that alpha wolves are good at marking their territory, and that Danny is an alpha wolf. I am not.

The only purpose I serve for the family now is as a legal name for things like bank loans, credit, and the like. I’m proud to give my name to Danny and Mare as a tool to use however they want. Around the house they just call me “Cuck” or “Fag”, and I am fine with that. Danny is so superior, after all, that he should be able to call me whatever he wants. Our finances were a mess, but Mare is getting her online business started again, and she already has a bunch of clients. All of my stuff was thrown in the trash or sold at a garage sale. Old things from university, heirlooms, anything having to do with me. Mare says that all my shit around the house was just a reminder of what a dickless fag I am, and it was depressing. Now, the apartment is decorated in her and Danny’s tastes. Danny is learning to play the guitar, and he seems very carefree. Mare says that he was always on edge before, not knowing how I would react, but now that I’m Danny’s bitch, he really seems to be coming out of his shell. He even started attending normal school again. Xandernath is still inside him, but Danny is in charge. There’s no stalking around, no blackness in his eyes. He’s made the demon’s power his own.

I’m proud of that.

Mare and I are legally married still, but Mare only kisses me now if she’s just had her tongue up Danny’s ass. Sometimes she will rim him and suck his balls for a long time, worshiping him and talking about how worthless I am by comparison. Drained of energy, all I can do is sit and watch while he sits on her face and she tongues, licks, and sucks his asshole. Usually she also licks his balls and titfucks his big, hanging shaft while she does this. Each of his nuts is far bigger in circumference than the stretched out length of my entire tiny cock, and he produces huge amounts of semen, when I can no longer produce even the smallest bit myself.

“How do you like the taste of your son’s ass, faggot?” Mare always asks me, as she kisses me after giving Danny’s tight young ass a deep slurping. I tell her I like it very much and it’s my honor to get a second-hand taste of the boy who rapes my wife every night. Sometimes on these occasions, she milks a big, fat load out of Danny’s prick and onto my helpless body. After that, they go about the day and just let me lay there covered in his cum for hours. The dry orgasms come in a steady ebb.

Mare says I’m a worthless piece of shit, but she intends to get pregnant by Danny so they need to keep me around, with the resulting kid being ostensibly mine. “Of course,” she adds, “Once they see how handsome or beautiful our child is, anyone with a brain will know it can’t possibly be yours, since any sperm you produce die in your raisin balls before they can even come out of your worm dick. Hell, even if you could cum, you’re so inferior that any kid you had would probably be born fucking retarded.” Grinding her stocking-clad foot on my dicklette, she tells me she doesn’t want the trash from my balls anywhere near her pussy. “If you ever start cumming again, you’re only allowed to jerk off directly into the trash,” she says. “That’s where your genes belong, anyway. I got lucky, having Danny. It was probably a one in a million chance that he turned out not to be a worm-dick, creampie-eating faggot like you.”

She intends to have a home delivery of the baby and give birth while I watch. Perhaps, if I am lucky, I will be allowed to lay beneath her pussy so she can push out Danny’s child directly onto my face. I’m so fortunate that my boy’s superior seed will be breeding my wife’s eggs. I am happy to act in whatever way I can to be a pay pig to support a kid that isn’t even really mine. She’s already gotten into the habit of making me literally thank Danny’s fat cock for dumping a big load in her pussy, as if my son’s endowment were a real person. 

Indeed, most of her communications with me involve humiliation. Most recently, she forced me to say that I’m a fag who wants my own son’s cock. “You’d probably suck his dick yourself if you could, you cuck piece of shit,” she admonished. “Not that he’d ever have anything to do with you with an ugly troll like you.” I nodded and agreed. She straddled me and slapped me, forcing me to talk about how I wanted to suck my own son’s monster cock to get it hard enough to rape her pussy that night. She asked if I thought Danny had a nice ass, I said I did. “I knew you were a fucking faggot,” she accused. I continued to have dry orgasms from the humiliation. “After he comes in from playing outside you probably want to stick your nose right against his rim and take a big sniff!” No matter what she suggests in these daily humiliation sessions, I agree to it all. Most of it is true anyway. Danny is so superior to me, I guess I would suck his cock or lick his asshole if he wanted. Just to get his fifteen inch cock rock hard and ready to tear apart my wife’s wet cunt.

God, when they fuck I can hear her  _stretching_  around him. He makes me look like such a needle-dick  _fag_. Life is so much better now that I’ve accepted the truth.

Mare also fucks Danny’s friends from his new school in front of me. He’s only in primary school, of course, but he invites three or four of them over at a time, and Mare has taken their virginities as I was made to watch. With Xandernath’s help, none of them remembers anything once it’s over. I appreciate the chance to be shown that my cock is tiny even compared to a bunch of fourth-graders. Most are barely showing signs of puberty I’m still tiny compared to them. Mare lines up the visiting boys, totally naked, in front of me, squatting with spread thighs and jerking their dicks while they cutely bite their lips and moan. 

“Even these little kids make you look like fucking bitch by comparison,” she tells me, day after day, and then snakes her head out and takes them in her mouth, balls and all, sucking them lewdly, giving them their first orgasms and pressing her lips up against their smooth, hairless pubic areas. “They even cum more than you, too!” Every one of them is measured, like it’s a game, and Mare compliments them with a schoolteacher’s patience and indulgence, telling them they should be proud because their cocks are so much bigger than mine. She lines them up and fucks them all just a few feet from me, telling me all the while that I’m such a dickless loser, my own wife needs to go to an elementary school to get some good cock. It turns me on to watch a bunch of elementary school boys running a train on my wife.

Danny always goes last, and gapes her hard, in her pussy or ass depending on his mood. The boys make a game of it, cheering each other on and high-fiving, laughing, acting like boys do. After it’s done, before their memories are overwritten, I’m made to learn each young boy’s name and earnestly thank him for fucking my wife. I always have a dry orgasm from watching their young bodies rutting between her legs, crying out, their soft, tight asses clenched as they thrust clumsily, eyes squinted shut beneath feathery bangs. Sometimes they all piss on Mare when they’re done. She doesn’t even let their streams stop spraying onto her face and tits before telling me she’d rather be a little kid’s toilet than ever have sex with me again. A hot stream of piss from a young boy turns her on more than I ever could.

This repeats itself, day after day, week after week. And that’s my life. That’s my story. 

Looking back over it, it sounds impossible. But every word is true. My son turned out to be greater than I ever knew. I was the fool all along. But I’m content now. Mare and Danny took out a life insurance policy, you see? It involved some fraud, sure, but when I eventually fade away, they’ll be taken care of. Not they they probably need it. Danny is smart as a whip. Mare too. They’ll be alright. And as for me, I’m happy in my place, as a worm-dicked faggot, getting cucked and humiliated, watching my wife get fucked all day, every day.

I have to stop writing now, for I am tired, and Mare is calling me. Danny has just dumped a huge load up her ass - he shoots enough to fill her bowels to the brim - and she’s ready to squat over me and shit his cum straight down my throat. God, I love felching my 10-year-old son’s  _rape god_  load out of my wife’s shitter.

Fifteen inches to one-half inch. Fifteen inches to one-half inch. Fuck, he’s so amazing.

I have just enough energy to crawl and lay at her feet.

\- J  
  
---  
 


End file.
